A Place Out Of Time
by Richefic
Summary: After the events in The Quickening and The Plague, Richie finally has his chance to save the world. But Ares has other ideas. A Gathering story set in 1992. Now complete.
1. Prologue

AN - Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed The Plague. To Lori, consider this your happy new year present. To moone31 merci bien, tu es tres gentille, j'ecrivais aussi vite que possible pour toi!. To Neoinean, I hope enough people have now rehearsed the family tree that it is clear. The pale horse hasn't made its last appearance – and the horsemen will be discussed – and Richie's with you. He misses Chocolate cake and Hamburgers. To PH Balance and Ivy – I thought making Cassandra Duncan and Connor's mother was just too obvious. Also since the small band of Immortals we see in the series can't be all there were, thus to avoid becoming too contrived I left her nameless and faceless and conveniently dead. Although, it would be an interesting woman who would be attracted to both Rameriez and Darius don't you think?! And to Sarai, Tammi and SC thanks as ever for your very kind words and encouragement, I hope you enjoy the sequel.

This takes place a few years after The Plague ends. For once, you absolutely have to have read that for this to make any sense at all.

* * *

Disclaimer. Not mine. And the only profit I get is the feedback of my readers and the pleasure of seeing the characters live on after the end of the series. Including Richie. Who am I kidding? Especially Richie. 

A military base, somewhere in the desert – present time – August 22nd 2079.

"Come on, _Come on_," Richard Ryan Macleod muttered to himself, bouncing on his toes as his retina was scanned for the security protocols. He had just about burnt out his jet's engine getting back here in record time. He was in no mood to wait in line.

"Macleod, Richard Ryan, Lt. 2nd class." A synthesized voice acknowledged, as his image popped up on the screens.

"At last!" Richie tugged hard at the door.

Nothing happened.

"Red alert protocols are in operation," The voice informed him. "Please place your right palm on the scanner."

"Oh great, just great." Quickly Richie tore off his glove with his teeth and slammed his hand down hard on the illuminated console, watching as the little green light took precious seconds to scan the lines and whorls and match them to its database. If Connor had taken the project to red alert then things were even worse than he'd thought. Which meant it was all the more urgent that he get in there straight away.

"Scan complete," the voice continued mercilessly. "Macleod, Ryan, Richard, date of birth .."

"Yes, _alright_." Richard snarled, cutting it off. This was taking much too long. He glanced quickly around. It was a risk. His youthful appearance made it impossible for him to acquire the seniority that allowed Connor to simply by pass much of the red tape of military life as a matter of course. But this was important. And he had designed the damned protocols after all. With a little help from Amanda. "Computer, override security protocols, vocal authorization."

"Vocal authorisation within accepted parameters. Password required."

Richie flashed a tight, mirthless smile. His choice of password had been simple and to the point.

"Open the damned door."

Racing down the corridor towards Connor's office, Richie prayed that it was a false alarm and none of this was necessary. He could kill Mac for worrying him so much and then they would both kick back and have a beer. But as he rounded the corner he realised things didn't look good.

"Have you found him, yet?"

"You got here very fast." Methos observed.

"What can I say?" Richie flashed him a bright, insincere smile. "The traffic was light."

"You'll do Duncan no good if we have to take time out from looking for him to identify your body." Connor reproved.

Richie sank down onto the couch in bitter disappointment. He really was missing then. "Have you started looking? Do you even know where to start? I mean he could be anywhere!"

"Not anywhere," Methos murmured. "We think he went through the Gate."

"Through the Gate?" Richie's jaw dropped. "But he doesn't even work here."

"Long story," Methos shrugged apologetically. "At least it gives us some clear parameters."

"You mean, because we can only time travel within our own lifetimes?" Richie scowled. "Cos, five hundred years might seem like small potatoes to you but it's a pretty big deal to the rest of us."

"You're forgetting something," Methos looked at him, without rancour. "Where ever they are, they aren't going to travel outside of your lifetime."

"They?" Richie blanched. "Please tell me that you mean Amanda."

"I was coming to that." Connor glared at Methos.

"Come to it faster." Richie advised tightly.

"I'm sorry lad," Connor got up and came around the desk. "I didn't want to tell you this over the com-link, but the truth of it is .."

"Its Ares, isn't it?" Richie surged to his feet. "I don't believe this. I warned him. I told him to stay away. I said if he ever went after any of my family, I'd do whatever it took to screw up his precious prophecy."

"Rich, it wasn't Ares." Methos cut in.

"It wasn't?" Richie paused. "Then who was it?"

"Well, yes alright, it was Ares," Methos tried to clarify. "But he didn't go chasing after, Duncan. It was Duncan who went after him."

"Why? Its not like he can kill him or anything."

They had been back and forth over this, countless times since the full implications of the prophecy had come to light. No one but Richie could kill Ares or the world, as they knew it, would come to an end. Otherwise, Methos would have done the deed centuries ago.

"If we knew that," Connor sighed. "We'd have a better idea of where to look for him."

A thin, cold, and all too familiar, fear settled in the pit of Richie's stomach. The same fear that he had felt every time when his foster parents had said, 'we love you but ..' or 'we're sorry son, but ..' and walked out of his life. Mac wouldn't do this to him. He couldn't. Because Richie didn't think he could face the future without him.

"Hey," Methos nudged him encouragingly. "We started in 1974 and we've already reached 1987. We should find something before the night's out."

Richie scrubbed at his face, feeling the burning in his eyes. He wasn't going to go through this again. He wasn't. He cleared his throat. "So, how can I help?"

"Here," Methos tossed him one of the flat black boxes. "Pull up a terminal."

"What am I looking for?"

"Anything different." Connor advised.

"Such as?"

You'll know when you see it." Methos assured him.

"Well, that's helpful."

It was less than thirty minutes later when Connor suddenly straightened. "Risteard, take a look at this."

Richie was there in an instant, looking over Connor's shoulder with a worried frown.

"What is it?" Methos glanced up, even as he continued to scan the data streams

"Nuh-uh," Richie shook his head. "It didn't happen like that. In 1983 Mac got challenged by whats-his-face and figured the Game was getting a little too close for comfort, so he took Tess to live in Seacouver."

"_What's his face_?" Connor queried.

"Like I'm supposed to remember every teeny tiny detail?" Richie snapped. "I didn't know I was gonna be Immortal back then."

"Thank the gods, some of us kept records." Methos sighed.

"There's no challenge here," Connor's eyes crinkled in concentration. "And this Duncan didn't leave Paris."

"What?" Methos came to stand at Connor's shoulder, checking the information for himself. "Go forward a year or two." He suggested.

"No. He's still in Paris."

"No, no way," Richie interrupted. "I mean, if Mac's still in Paris then how could I have broken into his Antique store?"

"You couldn't, not in this timeline." Methos met his gaze, his eyes dark with worry, as he moved back to the other terminal and started working furiously.

"No. It happened just like I said," Richie insisted looking helplessly from one man to the other. "It must have. C'mon guys, everything about me being here, with you, here, now, in this room. None of this would have happened if I hadn't met Mac. Right?"

"He has a point." Connor agreed.

"I know that's what worries me."

"Because if I didn't meet this Mac," Richie nodded at the screen. "Then I must have met our Mac?"

"Exactly."

"Well, that means he's not dead, right?" Richie asked hopefully. "Which is a good thing. Isn't it?"

"Well, he's not dead yet anyway," Connor was still looking at biographical details from the screen. He raised his eyes to meet Richie's. "But if Duncan has travelled that far back, then we do have a problem laddie."

This was not good. Connor only ever called him laddie when he was sick or hurt and right now he was neither. Which meant that whatever was coming it was very, very, bad.

"Go on."

"We never imagined that Ares would try to use the Gate," Connor scrubbed at his face in a gesture that reminded Richie with a pang of the younger Macleod. "Why would he? It wasn't like he could kill you without negating the prophecy and he'd already had plenty of opportunities to wreck whatever havoc he chose on your childhood."

"But he went after me anyway?" Richie pressed his lips together. "The guy really plays to win, huh?"

"It seems he's been planning this for a long time."

"How long?" Richie felt his chest tighten.

"You remember when you said General Walker didn't like you and we told you that you were being paranoid?" Methos spoke up.

"Yeees," Richie drew the word out slowly. He did not like where this was going at all.

"He really didn't like you," Methos confirmed. "He was the one who helped Ares get in here and when he followed him through the Gate we did some checking and discovered he's one of a number of Orphans that Ares has been raising."

"You couldn't have checked this, I don't know, before? And what would Ares want with a bunch of kids anyway?"

"Given that the youngest is in his mid thrities, I'd say probably to use as an Army against you.

"An Army? I have to face an Army?" Richie squeaked. "Isn't that like against the rules or whatever?"

"You don't have to fight them," Connor soothed. "Not like that anyway."

"But Ares will use them to get you where he wants you," Methos tone was low and dangerous. "Ergo, Macleod's not dead, but right now he might as well be."

"He didn't know," Richie realised with sudden horror. "He didn't know that Ares was going to go through the gate. He didn't have a recall button on him, did he? Did he?"

One look at their faces was enough to confirm his suspicions. What on earth was Mac thinking? Stupid, stubborn, Scot, to be stuck in the past with no means of returning himself to their present.

"Wait a minute, all he has to do is wait. Eventually, he'll get old enough and he'll be right back where he started. I mean, he could be walking through that door any second now." Richie looked at the door hopefully, as if that could make it true.

"If he lives long enough." Methos pointed out quietly.

"He survived pretty good the first time around." Richie shrugged. But the words sounded hollow to his own ears. Duncan had a lot of enemies. When he thought about who he had faced during the time he had known him, some of those fights had been close, too close. A second's hesitation, a patch of ice, any small thing might make the difference between living and dying.

Yet when Mac had realised that Ares was planning to change the past, their past, who knew, perhaps Ares had even gloated about what he had planned, the Scot hadn't thought about any of that. He had only thought to keep his younger self safe.

"What about me? Where am I?" Richie demanded with a suddenflare of hope. He would bet his prized Harley that if they could find his younger self, Mac wouldn't be too far away.

"I don't know," Connor admitted unhappily. "After Emily," he caught himself. "After Rebecca 'died' you simply disappeared."

"No-one just disappears. You know about false identities and stuff. There must be something," He turned to Methos. "What about you? Don't you remember anything about this?"

"This never happened to me. Not to this me anyway." Methos reminded him.

"Oh man, I hate time travel." Richieran his hands through his hairand began to pace across the room.

"Look on the bright side," Methos suggested. "As long as you're alive, things can't be so bad. Its only when you wink out of existene that we really have to worry."

"Gee, thanks so much." Richie tried to scowl at him, but he had to admit that the Ancient Immortal's attitute was comforting.

But they both knew that even if Mac manged to keep his former self safe in the past, by seperating them in the present Ares had achieved exactly what he wanted. Without Duncan by his side Richie would be far more vulnerable.

"I gotta go after him. Bring him back."

"Of course. If you think that is what Duncan would have wanted." Connor agreed mildly.

Richie gave him a murderous look for such a low blow. Duncan had just leapt wildly, perhaps irrevocably, into the unknown, to protect him. The very last thing he would want, would be that he should put himself in the line of fire.

Still, how bad could it be?

"Look, we know Ares can't kill me. ISo its not like he could do much to me that hadn't already been done." Richie admitted uncomfortably.

"You'd be surprised," Methos looked away, his eyes shadowed by his own experiences at Ares hands. "And he's had time since then to perfect his techniques."

"You wouldn't let me read the journal," Richie pointed out a touch acerbically. Then his tone softened. "It was that bad?"

"Actually," Methos forced a grin. "It was much worse."

"Just because he can't kill you Risteard, doesn't mean he can't hurt you," Connor agreed. "And a man mad with pain and grief is none too accurate when it comes to weilding a sword."

"And if he doesn't make it back?" Richie challenged. "Do you really think the alternative is any better? I need him, Connor." Richie's voice cracked slightly. "I can't do this without him."

"I know," Connor came to stand in front of him. "But I can't let you go. I may well have lost Duncan today, I canna bear to loose you as well."

"But you'll risk me loosing you both," Richie protested astutely. "Because you're gonna go after him, aren't you?"

Connor didn't even try to deny it. "Macloed's look after our own."

"I'm just as much a Macloed as you are," Richie pointed out. "How come you get to go?"

"Because I'm the Clan Chief and you have to do as I say, rank doth hath its privileges, laddie," Connor offered with a tight grin pulling him into a rare hug. He looked over the lad's shoulder at Methos. "Look after him, Duncan will expect him safe and well when I bring him home."

"I will." Methos nodded.

"And you," Connor pulled back slightly to look Richie in the eye. "You are not to follow me. Understood?"

"But .."

"No. I absolutely forbid it, do you understand me?"

"Perfectly." Richie nodded.

* * *

Postscript. I'm afraid I am no scientist and my knowledge of the physicis of time travel comes from things like Quantum Leap and Michael Creighton's 'Timeline'. I hope that won't spoil your enjoyment too much. It is simply to facillitate the story and is not a major feature of the plot. 


	2. A Meeting

AN – Many thanks for your kind comments and reviews, for those of you that were wondering about why 'our' Richie has no memory of his 'new' past, its because it hasn't happened to him yet – only if Ares can undo a number of factors will the amended past become reality. And for those of you who wonder what might happen when Duncan meets Duncan I am going to include that .. eventually!

* * *

The past – Paris August 1992 

Duncan Macleod ducked out of the doorway of St Julien le Pauvre and turned his collar up against the steady drizzle. Despite being only late August the winds coming off the Seine already held the chill promise of winter. As he crossed the small Churchyard he lengthened his stride, intent only on getting home as soon as possible.

The solitary figure standing at the foot of one of the graves, gave him pause. He had clearly been standing there for some time, his short hair was plastered against his head as rivulets of water ran down his neck to soak into a mid length leather jacket, already dark with rain. Duncan felt his jaw clench with sympathy. He knew was it was to mourn. Still, he had no right to intrude on a stranger's grief. He started to move on.

And then he felt the buzz.

_What are the odds?_

To his surprise, the other didn't so much as glance in his direction. Wondering if he could be mistaken, he quickly scanned the Churchyard to see if anyone else could be the source of the sensation. But the place was utterly deserted. Even the birds and animals had sought shelter from the incessant rain. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he squelched over the sodden grass.

"I'm Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod."

"Do you practise that?" The other asked, keeping his back to him. "It's very impressive. If I didn't know better I'd be scared," He paused. "You do know this is Holy ground, right?"

"You're _supposed_ to tell me your name."

"Only if I plan to fight you," The other returned blandly. "Which, I don't by the way."

Duncan nodded once, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets. He could just walk away. Pretend that he hadn't seen the dirty, crumpled clothes, the hair neither washed nor brushed in who knew how long, the fingernails, thick with engrained dirt or the utter exhaustion in the sagging posture.

Except he knew what it meant.

It had been a long time since Duncan had felt the need to hide out on Holy Ground and centuries on just the memory of Harrish Clay's mocking laughing was still enough to make his face flame with chagrin. But he had been young and scared and merely that fortunate that Clay was a man of principle and had not decided to pursue him anyway.

This one had run far, if the accent was any guide and fast, if the small blue canvas holdall at his feet was any indication.

He was being hunted.

"Humour me."

For a moment he still thought the other was still going to refuse, but then he swiped his wet hand on his sodden jeans and stuck it out for the Scot to shake.

"Richie Ryan. Of the Seacouver Ryans," He gave a self-depreciating shrug. "You've probably never heard of them."

"Seacouver?" Duncan frowned as he accepted the hand. He didn't think he knew anyone in Seacouver. Not anymore. "You're a long way from home."

"Yeah, well. Can't exactly hang out in the old neighbourhood anymore."

"I guess not," Duncan nodded, not unsympathetically. But he was anxious to get to the business in hand. "You look like hell."

He wondered if he had imagined the brief flash of pain in Richie's eyes before the younger man shifted his feet and looked at him uncertainly.

"Look, I don't know how this is supposed to work. I mean, if I wanted to borrow money, I could go to a bank, or if I needed a car for a few days, then I could use a hire firm, but this? Its not like I can put an advert in the local paper. And Amanda said .."

"Amanda? This is about Amanda?" Duncan's throat went dry. "She's in Paris?" That was all he needed.

"No, she's in Russia, right now. That's the problem. I need to .."

"Oh no," Duncan cut him off. "Whatever, she's got herself into, you tell her she can just get herself out of it. I'm not falling for anymore of her scams."

"You know what, forget it," Richie snapped. "I'll just go break into a Museum or an Antique Store or something." He started to walk away.

"You lost your sword?" Duncan's voice stopped him.

"I didn't lose it." Richie turned back.

Meeting the Scot's eyes to telegraph his intentions, he slowly reached into his coat and brought out a gold rapier with a clam-shell guard, which featured a beautifully ornate image of a ship, its quality testament to the craftsmanship which had gone into the piece. Except that the blade was snapped clean off. The sight sent a chill down Duncan's spine. The power and force that it took to shatter such a blade didn't bear thinking about.

"What happened?"

"I ran that's what happened. I jumped onto one of those tour boats that takes visitors down the river, if you can believe that. Amanda always said if she couldn't get to Holy Ground, she'd hide out in a crowd.

"It was a good idea," Duncan consoled him. "You're alive aren't you?"

So, Amanda was his teacher? He hadn't heard that she had a new student, but then he hadn't seen her in a long time and, always mindful of her debt to Rebecca, Amanda was more willing than most Immortals of her age to take on the responsibility. But if he was so new to the Game then he was hardly worth the chase.

Unless.

_The young always run to their teachers._

The thought sent a chill like iced water running through his veins. He hadn't seen Martin Hyde in centuries. But he hadn't heard that he was dead either.

"Who was it?"

"No one I know," Richie's casual shrug, belied the anxiety in his eyes.

"Anyone I know?" Duncan asked with exaggerated patience.

"Oh. I don't know," Richie said quietly. "He said I wouldn't live long enough to tell anyone."

Duncan blinked. Such tactics were not unheard of, but were only used by the very worst of their kind. Which meant that whoever it was had no intention of waiting until Richie led him to Amanda. He was simply going to kill the student and force her to come seeking revenge.

And if that didn't work, he would surely kill again.

He had to be stopped.

"Have you spoken to Amanda?"

"No!" Richie's eyes widened betraying his panic. "No, you can't get her involved."

Duncan admired his loyalty, but it was clear that he was simply too young and proud to realise that he was way out of his depth. Well, he had no desire to see Amanda lose her head either and if it was Hyde then he had an old score to settle.

"You need a sword," he looked Richie up and down. "And a bath wouldn't hurt, either."

He strode off, assuming that Richie would follow. After a few steps he realised that the younger man wasn't following. He looked back to see him standing in place, a mixture of hope and uncertainty in his eyes. God, had he ever been that young?

"You coming?"

With a quick, sudden smile, Richie snatched up the small holdall, which lay at his feet, and caught up to fall in step beside the Scot.

Belatedly, Duncan wondered how on earth he was going to explain any of this to Tessa.


	3. Revalations

They covered the short distance to the quayside in silence. Duncan was busy trying to think how he was going to break the news to Tessa that they had an Immortal houseguest, without having to explain the intricacies of the Game. He had managed to keep it out of their lives for twelve years now and the few challenges that had come his way, she was, thankfully, unaware of. He hoped to keep it that way.

For his part, Richie didn't seem inclined to speak. At least, that is, not until he saw his proposed accommodations.

"Who would actually choose to live on a boat?" he protested.

"Actually, it's a barge." Duncan corrected mildly, as he led the way down the gangplank.

"It still floats on the water," Richie muttered. "dirty, smelly, water at that."

"Its not that bad," Duncan unlocked the door and let them in. "There are at least forty species of freshwater fish in there."

"So, that's what I can smell," Richie scowled. "Fish poop."

Duncan ignored him as he took a quick look around the living area of the barge, "Tessa?"

Thankfully, she seemed to be absent, so at least he would have time to get their 'guest' cleaned up before he had to worry about introductions. Heading up towards the bedroom area, he quickly tided a few embarrassing items out of sight under the bedclothes, before pulling a pair of sweat pants and a cable knit sweater out of blanket box.

"These might be a little big on you."

"That's alright. I hear sweaters are baggy this season."

"The bathroom's through here," Duncan indicated. "There are plenty of towels. If you just leave your dirty laundry on the floor when you're done, I'll put it in the wash."

"Right," Richie nodded. "Thanks."

As the bathroom door clicked shut, Duncan gave some thought as to what he could feed their unexpected guest. Judging from his accent, he didn't think that his extra ripe and rather smelly Camembert would pass muster. Instead, he found some homemade tomato sauce in the freezer and popped it in the microwave to thaw while he put on a pan of water to boil for pasta. He was just rummaging around in the refrigerator for the makings of a salad, when he felt the buzz.

At the same time the running water in the shower cut out, indicating that Richie had felt it too.

"Stay put." Duncan commanded.

Without waiting to see if Richie complied, he picked up the Katana and made for the door. The sight that met him on the gangplank was the last thing he expected.

"Connor, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, obviously," Connor looked around. "What's the point of a boat, if its not seaworthy?"

"It's a barge," Duncan corrected, for the second time that morning, as he stepped back to let his teacher in. "And it can move well enough. I just happen to like the view."

"So, I see."

Closing the door, Duncan looked round to see what has caused Connor's dry tone and felt the heat of embarrassment rise in his face. Tessa insisted that the nude self-portrait was purely art, but Duncan couldn't help but think what his mother would have said. Having his teacher see it was almost as bad.

"I meant, Notre Dame." He corrected, hastening over to turn the portrait to the wall.

"No, Duncan," Connor's light touch on his arm, staying his hand, surprised him. "Enjoy her while you can."

The sympathy in his teacher's voice caught Duncan unawares, causing a sudden well of sadness. It was true he would have Tessa for such a short time. And yet, he couldn't imagine his life without her.

The sudden hissing and pooping as the water on the stove boiled over broke the silence. Duncan quickly moved to the stove and pushed it to one side.

"Why are you here Connor?"

"What?" His teacher affected innocence. "Can't I make a social visit?"

Duncan turned his head to look at him in wry amusement. "Not in all the time I've known you. Planning on turning over a new leaf in your old age?"

"Not so much of the old, laddie," Connor walked over to the drinks table and started to pour them both a scotch. "And I can still take you, anytime."

Duncan ignored the jibe, concentrating instead on Connor's actions as he added just a splash of water and turned to hand him a glass. It was rather early in the day, even for his kinsman. He wondered if he was going to need it.

"No one's dead," Connor read his expression. "At least, I hope not."

"That's not very reassuring Connor."

"I know."

Studying his teacher, Duncan saw little outward change. The trademark white sneakers were as pristine as ever, his nails were neatly clipped and his face free of stubble. But the thin, angular planes of his features and his bloodshot eyes betrayed his physical and mental exhaustion.

"You're head-hunting." He accused.

"Its not what you think." Connor sighed tiredly as he settled into a chair and took a sip of his scotch, tipping his head back as its warmth trickled down his throat.

"Isn't it?" Duncan knew all too well how single minded his teacher could be. "When did you last have a full night's sleep? Stop for a proper meal? For Lord's sake Connor, you can't fight if you're dead on your feet."

"I'm looking for my student."

Duncan sank onto the couch in slack jawed surprise. Much as he had spent the last four hundred years proving to his teacher that he was his own man, well able to take care of himself and fight his own battles, he secretly liked the fact that the elder Macleod had never stopped taking an interest in his affairs.

"You didn't tell me you had a new student." He said, slightly peevishly.

In answer, Connor dug into his pocket and pulled out a photo. The picture showed Connor in a rare, unguarded moment, laughing uproariously at whatever it was the grinning fair-haired lad had said. God, no wonder his teacher was so worried. The lad couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen when he 'died'. It was extraordinarily rare to see one so young. They never survived for long.

"I had to go away on business. I thought he'd be safer at home, so I told him not to try and follow me. But something has happened. I haven't been able to reach him for days."

"What's his name?" Duncan passed the photo back.

"He won't be using his own name," Connor dismissed that. "He knows that would make him too easy to find. I thought he might have come here. I suppose I could try Amanda .."

"Speaking of Amanda." Duncan hesitated as the dreadful possibility occurred to him that whoever was hunting Richie had already despatched Connor's youngster.

"Please don't tell me she's in Paris. That's all I need." Connor echoed Duncan's earlier sentiments.

"No, she's in Russia right now, at least according to her student."

Tilting his head slightly, Duncan realised that Richie had been absolutely silent since Connor had arrived. Since the initial buzz was not sufficiently fine tuned to enable them to detect the number of Immortals in the immediate area, Connor had no way of knowing that he was there.

"_Amanda _has a new student?" Connor's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah," Duncan stood up and headed towards the kitchen, oblivious of his teacher's change in mood, intent on getting some decent food into Connor before he decided to take off again. "About late twenties, blue eyes, dark hair .."

"Enormous nose." Connor added sourly.

"I prefer the term distinguished." Duncan turned to see Richie standing at the top of the stairs, wearing his sweater and sweats, looking at Connor with a scowl.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Connor demanded.

"I could ask you the same question," Richie shrugged, as he came down the steps to join them. "You won't find that 500 year old Antique you've been looking for around here. Unless you're hoping for a matched pair."

"Actually," Connor swirled. "I was thinking that if our client has had as little luck as I have, he might tire of searching for the genuine item and settle for a replica vessel. They are much easier to obtain. Especially when the owner is ignorant of the true value."

"In other words," Richie flopped into a chair. "You haven't been able to find where our favourite boy scout has taken the boy, but then neither has Ares. Which means you think he might decide to come after Duncan here, who will be an easier target as he has no idea what is going on, so you've come to warn him."

"Who is this Ares?" Duncan demanded.

"He's evil." Richie said darkly. "And he has nothing to lose by killing you."

"Did you play hooky the day we learnt this was all Top Secret?" Connor protested.

"And how exactly were you going to warn him without telling him anything?"

"What did you tell him?"

Slightly peeved at so obviously being kept out of the loop, Duncan cut in. "He said his name was Richie Ryan and that he was Amanda's student."

"Amanda's student?" Connor smirked.

"I never _actually_ said that. It is hardly my fault if your student puts two and two together and makes five. But just for the record, I am not, nor have I ever been Amanda's student."

"You're not Richie Ryan either." Connor added.

Despite Duncan's shocked expression the other didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the revelation.

"Yes I am. I can show you my passport if you like."

"Is this the same passport that also says you are twenty nine years old and were born in Basingstoke?"

"So, who are you exactly?" Duncan demanded before this could escalate. "And what is going on?"

He didn't miss the fact that 'Richie' and Connor exchanged a quick look before 'Richie' answered. "Can we leave the first one for now? I think you've had enough surprises today and I really don't want to lie to you."

"You mean, anymore than you already have?" Duncan asked sourly.

To his surprise the dark haired Immortal shook his head. "I haven't lied to you. Everything, I told you was the truth. It all happened at some time or another."

"But it happened to this Richie Ryan, didn't it?" Duncan countered. "Not to you."

"Duncan, you can trust him," Connor assured him. "We all have Richie's best interests at heart."

"So, Richie is the blonde lad in the photo?" Duncan realised. "And he really is your student?"

Connor nodded.

"And mine, and Amanda's," the other put in. "Among others."

"Talking of which," Duncan scowled at him. "What exactly am I supposed to call you?"

"You can call him Adam," Connor answered with a quelling look at the couch, when it seemed 'Adam' was about to come up with a range of creative suggestions.

"And this Richie really is missing?"

"Missing?" Adam looked over at Connor. "You couldn't have mentioned this earlier?"

"I did. I assumed you were eavesdropping."

"I had soap in my ears," Adam frowned. "He wouldn't have followed Ares without a good reason. Its too great a risk."

"Oh please," Duncan protested. "He's just a lad. At that age risk is their middle name."

"No. Adam's right," Connor mused. "Richie knows what's at stake, he wouldn't have come unless something had happened."

"Or was about to happen." Adam murmured.

"Is Amanda safe in Russia?" Connor asked.

"I would say so," Adam nodded. "She was working in a touring circus when they got snowed up in Siberia. There won't be any way in or out of there until the thaw comes."

"And we know we're both safe?" To his surprise Connor made that last a question and to his amazement Adam actually answered it.

"As far as the world is concerned, Russell Nash is attending a conference on Antique swords in Mexico. The place will be packed with Immortals. Ares won't dare try anything there and Pierson is safe on Holy Ground in Tibet."

"How did you manage that?"

"I sent myself an e-mail suggested that it would be a good idea to get out of Dodge for a while. I didn't realise I would take myself so quite seriously."

"Connor, please tell me you haven't gone and joined the CIA again." Duncan rolled his eyes.

"Not exactly," Connor murmured. "What about Rebecca?"

"She's safe."

"So, if its not you or me, Amanda and Rebecca are out of the way, and the boy is so well hidden that even we can't find him, who does that leave?" Connor frowned.

For a moment there was silence in the room as Duncan tried to work out just what the hell was going on. Then Adam's gaze locked on the portrait.

"Tessa."


	4. Rescue

AN – Much longer and hopefully less confusing!

* * *

"Wait a minute? Are you saying that Tessa is in danger from this Ares?" Duncan demanded, looking from one man to the other.

"She's safe enough. Richie won't let anything happen to her." Connor tried to reassure.

Duncan wished he could believe that, but this Ares was clearly a seasoned Immortal and if Connor's reaction was anything to go by his student was still pretty green.

"He's just a boy! If this Ares is as bad as you say he is, he'll run the lad through and Tessa won't stand a chance." Surely Connor could see that his stripling of a student wasn't equipped to protect himself, never mind Tessa?

"It won't come that, Duncan. Richie knows he's not ready to faces Ares yet." Connor's words were resolute, but his eyes betrayed his concern. Duncan had never seen his usually implacable mentor look so worried. He wasn't at all sure that Richie wouldn't fight. The lad probably still thought he was invincible. The young ones were always too full of bravado.

"Of course, Ares may have other ideas," Adam picked up his wet coat, gave it a sniff, but put it on anyway. "Where was Tessa going?"

"I don't know. I didn't even know she was planning on going out. She said she was going to use today to work on some sketches." Duncan worried. There were a thousand places in Paris Tessa might have gone to. He had no idea where to start looking.

"Maybe, something came up." Connor walked over to where the red blinking light of the answer phone demanded attention and pressed the button.

"Ms Noel," A cultured French voice filled the room. "My name is Albert Dumas. I saw some of your work in the gallery of M. Collet and I would like to meet with you to discuss a commission. I have taken the liberty of booking a table at Les Arbres .." the message abruptly cut off, suggesting that Tessa had been screening her calls as she worked and had evidently decided that this one was worth taking.

"Is that Ares?" Duncan demanded.

"No," Adam answered, already halfway to the door. "But it gives us a place to start."

Duncan quickly reached for his sword and his coat and picked up the keys to the Citroen. "I'm driving," He flashed a quick, mirthless grin at Adam. "You can sit in the back."

"Why me?" Adam protested. "What about Connor?"

"Age has its privileges, laddie." Connor slapped him on the shoulder as he chuckled softly.

* * *

Les Arbres was a very exclusive restaurant, the haunt of many a celebrity and the occasional royal. As such, it was very protective about its client's privacy. Methos bit the inside of his lip as he watched Duncan trying to convince the maitre d' that he wasn't just a jealous husband, if things hadn't been so serious it would have been funny.

"I thought I told you not to follow me." Connor murmured, sotto voice.

"Actually, you told Richie. I just happened to be in the room."

"And you've never heard of leading by example?"

"You're here."

Connor supposed he had walked straight into that. Still, when Duncan had stranded himself here in the past by following Ares, he had felt duty bound to come looking for him. Except, his kinsman's priority was keeping the pre-immortal Richie safe and if he could find him then so could Ares. Which was all well and good, except Connor wasn't at all sure that his Richie could make it through what was to come without Duncan by his side. He looked over at his 400 year-old, student arguing with the Maitre d'.

"The lad needs his Da."

"Connor, it's not like his goldfish has died. Just because you can't find our Duncan, you can't just swap the genuine item with the reproduction model over there. They might look alike, but that one's never even met Richie."

"He's still the same man." Connor argued.

"Is he?" The bonds Duncan had forged with Richie derived from a particular set of circumstances. To expect to replicate those bonds in a different situation was asking for trouble in his opinion.

"You know Duncan. He can't help helping. All you had to do was look like you needed a hot shower and a square meal, spin him some tale of a broken sword and an evil Immortal and he was determined to protect you. He just needs a chance to get to know the lad."

"And if Ares decides to go after this Duncan, what then?"

"Duncan can take care of himself."

"Against Ares?" Methos shook his head. "He'll have no idea what he is facing."

"Ares can't kill him without voiding the prophecy. He won't risk that."

"Trust me, where Ares is concerned, death would be a blessed release. The only safe option is to keep the two of them as far apart as possible. Which is what I was planning on doing by the way, before you showed up."

"And to do this you had to pretend to be Richie?"

"Well, I could hardly tell him I was Methos could I? I wanted him to feel sorry for me, not think he'd just found the Immortal Holy Grail."

"And you couldn't have protected Duncan, as Adam Pierson mild mannered graduate student?"

Connor Macleod was possibly one of the shrewdest men that Methos had ever met. It was one of the things he most admired about the elder Highlander. It was also, on occasion, dammed inconvenient.

"I didn't want to risk bumping into myself." He hedged.

"In Tibet?" Connor's eyes narrowed. "You had Richie's old clamshell rapier. The one Harrish Clay shattered."

"I borrowed it."

Connor suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. Richie wasn't the sort to stand idly by whilst others took action on his behalf. Especially where his family was concerned. "How exactly did you 'convince' him to stay behind?"

Methos really wished Duncan would get a bloody move on "I shot him."

* * *

Across the room Duncan thanked the maitre d' for his assistance, slipping him a generous tip for his trouble before finally turning back to look at the others with a frown.

"Well, she was here. Apparently, Dumas is a something of a regular, so unless your man is in his late fifties with a beer belly and a bald head, I'd say he's out of the picture."

"Did she leave with him?" Adam asked.

"No, he took a cab and she decided to walk."

"In this weather?" Connor looked up at the unrelenting drizzle.

"She's an artist," Duncan shrugged. "She doesn't always think about practicalities when she's looking for inspiration."

In the back of his mind Connor recalled his Duncan telling him something about Tessa once going off on her own into the mountain wilderness around Seacouver.

"What was the commission for?" Adam asked.

"A memorial," Duncan frowned. "There's a small cemetery about three blocks down that has some fairly ornate family tombs. She could have gone there."

"Well, at least its Holy Ground." Connor paused as the guilty expression on his former students face, sparked a memory of another conversation in a different time and place. "You haven't told her, have you?" he realised. "About the Game."

"She's knows about Immortals," Duncan tried to defend himself. He knew he was in the wrong. He had no right to share his life with Tessa without ensuring that she knew the full implications of that choice. But he knew she would abhor the killing and he was terrified of losing her. "The Game isn't part of my life here."

"The Game is always part of our lives. Its who we are."

"Its what we do," Duncan argued. "And right now, I'm not a player, so there's no call for her to be worried."

"Will you still say that?" Connor asked in a deceptively mild voice. "When Ares has his sword to your Tessa's throat?"

* * *

"Well, she's not here," Adam scowled down at his left shoe, which had decided to leak. "Any other ideas?"

"If she was walking the quickest way back to the barge would be through that lane." Duncan pointed as he set off in that direction.

"Unless she decided to get a cab, or go another way entirely." Adam muttered.

"Come on," Connor urged. "I'd rather not let him out of my sight."

They followed the small path down the hill where it ended in a flight of steps which let out onto a cobbled area running along side the banks of the river.

"There."

Duncan's head snapped round to see where Adam was looking. Following his gaze, he felt an icy claw close around his heart. Because there on the left bank, Tessa was walking, juggling a baguette and her purse as she tried to politely extricate herself from the unwelcome advances of a man he had never seen before. Judging by Adam's expression it could only be Ares.

And they were on the wrong side of the river.

"Tessa!"

At the sound of his voice Tessa's head whipped round, only to cry out in pain and shock as Ares abandoned all pretence of entrapment and seized her roughly by the arm, the weak sunlight glinting dully off a short, stabbing sword, which suddenly appeared pressed to her throat.

"Well, he's nothing if not predictable." Adam's voice remarked.

"Shut up." Duncan hissed tightly.

"You're too late, Macleod," Ares called across the water. "She is mine now."

Duncan wasn't unduly surprised that this Ares should know him. It wouldn't be the first time an Immortal had come crawling out of the woodwork wanting to make a name by challenging him. But only the very worse sought to use his loved ones against him.

"Leave her! She's not part of this."

Ares mocking laughter taunted him as it floated across the water. "How little you know."

Duncan looked desperately down river to the too distant bridge. Even if he ran now, he would never be able to get there in time. If he cast off his coat and shoes and swam across, Ares could still plunge that dagger into her side before he even hit the water. It seemed they were at a stand off.

"If you want to fight. Fight me. Let her go."

"I'm not going to fight you, Macleod. I'm going to destroy you."

The throaty whine of a motorcycle engine seemed to come out of nowhere causing them both to look round. On the other side Ares tensed as he scanned the surrounding area. Duncan looked along the rain soaked banks, but on a day such as this the tree-lined walkways were deserted. Yet still the noise grew louder. Only at the last second did he think to look up as a motorcycle launched itself off the roof of one of the nearby buildings.

"Richie!" Connor exclaimed.

"That's your student?" Duncan's jaw dropped. This one didn't just think he was invincible. He was a reckless idiot to boot.

The motorcycle landed with a hard bounce on the cobblestones, but somehow the rider kept control of the machine and brought it round in a circle in front of Ares. Suddenly, the sweet smell of shaving foam cut through the air, as Richie squirted an aerosol directly into Ares' face, causing him to scream in agony and claw frantically at his burning eyeballs.

Dropping both his sword and his grip on Tessa in the process.

"Get on." Richie yelled.

Tessa didn't need telling twice, she hopped onto the back of the bike and wrapped his arms around Richie's waist, burying her head into his shoulder as he sped towards the bridge.

"Oh bugger."

Craning his neck to see what Adam had noticed Duncan saw a large jeep pull out from the shadow of the tress and move directly into the path of the bike intent on running it down. In a heartbeat Richie had turned the bike on a sixpence and gunned the engine to full throttle in the other direction. Only to have a second jeep appeared blocking the quayside in the other direction.

"They're boxed in." Duncan's voice rose with alarm.

Richie had obviously realised it too, because he brought the bike to a halt and whipped off his helmet, looking right and left. His eyes lit on a derelict stone staircase. Duncan watched as he looked back over his shoulder to speak to Tessa and saw her tighten her grip as Richie opened the throttle and coaxed the motorcycle up the staircase. When they got to the top of the second flight he turned the bike slightly so they were looking out across the river.

"What the hell is he thinking?" Duncan gripped the wall in front of him with both hands as he saw the two jeeps begin to converge. "He'll be a sitting duck up there."

"I think he has other plans." Adam observed dryly.

Sure enough, Richie revved the engine and nudged the front wheel of the bike onto the top of the flat stone banister that bordered the steps, then he released the throttle, allowing the bike to speed down the banister like it was a ski ramp, arcing off the end to sail across the river. Duncan heard Tessa gasp.

"He's going to get her killed!"

"He'll make it." Connor assured him.

Duncan glanced over sharply at the note of respect in his kinsman's voice. Connor Macleod was a good man, but a demanding and rather taciturn teacher. Many a time Duncan had pushed himself to the limit to earn even a hint of approval, He was almost affronted that this reckless tearaway appeared to have earned his teacher's respect so easily.

"I thought you were supposed to be angry with him." He pointed out, peevishly.

Connor turned his head and regarded him with a frown. "I was worried about him, Duncan. There's a difference."

Across the river, Ares climbed blindly to his feet and shouted something in a dialect Duncan didn't recognise, before he and his entourage melted away.

"Can he do that?" Connor looked at Adam.

"I don't know." Adam shook his head.

Not for the first time that day Duncan had the very real sense that his mentor was keeping something important from him. It wasn't a feeling he was used to and he didn't much care for it.

"Duncan."

Tessa threw herself off the bike and into his arms almost before it stopped. He held her close, feeling her shake as the adrenalin ebbed away. He pressed his chin against the top of her head. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, but left her head buried in his shoulder. "Who was that man?"

Duncan hugged her a little tighter. Now that the Game had found him again, he knew he would have no choice now but to tell her the whole truth. But was it fair to ask her to live such a life?

He wasn't sure he was strong enough to leave her as he should.

* * *

Only once he had her safely settled inside the car did the full enormity of the day's proceedings hit himand he rested his palms against the roof of the car and hung his head.

"Easy now. All's well, laddie. She's alive." Connor murmured softly in Gaelic.

It took Duncan a moment to realise that Connor's reassurance wasn't directed at him, but at his current student, who was standing, his blonde curls rippling slightly in the wind, with a haunted expression on his face. The rational, cultured part of him knew that he should be grateful to the boy for his intervention. But the primal, instinctive part of him, suddenly found a focus for all his worry and anger.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" he also lapsed into his native tongue. "Are you out of your mind? Pulling a stunt like that?" he consciously kept his voice low so as not to further alarm Tessa, but the words were no less biting for that. "You might be Immortal, but she could have been killed, did you even think about that? Or would it take waking up with her bleeding to death on the pavement beside you to ram that message home?"

"Duncan, hold your peace!" Connor growled.

"What?" Duncan turned on his mentor. "You canna condone such recklessness. The boy's a damned fool. He needs a good thrashing!"

"For protecting her from Ares? Duncan you're not thinking straight."

"Protecting Tessa is _my_ ..."

The sudden thrill of an Immortal presence let the words die on his lips as he scanned the surrounding area for the source of the danger. And froze. It could not be. In all the years Duncan had known him this man had kept his vow to minister from the sanctuary of Holy Ground and had never ventured forth into the world.

Until now apparently.

"Darius? What on earth are you doing here?"


	5. Resolution

AN – thanks to Neoinean, (what's good for the goose y'know .. waiting for your next chapter too grins) SC, (don't worry plenty of Mac/Richie interaction coming up) Moone 31 (I'm so glad you liked it and I'm writing as fast as life allows) and Ivy (Darius is a big part of this and he did used to be a warrior after all!) for to all for the loyal reviews. I hope everyone enjoys the next instalment.

* * *

As Darius drew closer, Duncan felt his anxiety mount. To all outward appearances, the priest moved with his usual air of calm serenity, but the thin tight planes of his face spoke of a level of anxiety Duncan had never before witnessed in his implacable mentor.

"Darius, what's wrong?"

"Desperate times, my friend," Darius spared him only a brief glance, before his gaze settled on Adam. "I didn't know you were back in town."

Adam tipped his head to one side in something of an apology, Duncan thought. "It wasn't exactly planned."

Behind him Richie snorted.

"I see," Darius said as if he didn't at all. "I had a message, from Tibet."

"Ah."

"So, it is true?"

"That depends. What did the message say?"

Everything about Darius suddenly became wary and Duncan was forcibly reminded that this man who had spent centuries preaching ways of peace had been raised as a great warrior and that whole continents had bowed to his will.

"You didn't send it?"

"Not in this lifetime," Adam turned his collar up against the increasing drizzle. "Can we discuss this somewhere warmer? My shoes are leaking."

"We can go back to the barge, I want to get Tessa home anyway," Duncan looked darkly at his teacher. "Then you owe me some answers."

"We'll go to Holy Ground," Connor disagreed. "She'll be safer there."

"But she'll feel safer at home," Richie unexpectedly came to Duncan's aid. "And I think between the six of us we can probably manage."

"You _think_, do you?" Connor snorted. "Well, this is a fine time to start."

Duncan winced at the scathing tone. Worried or not Connor clearly hadn't forgotten that the lad had disobeyed his orders to stay at home. Although on second thoughts he should have realised that his kinsman's concern would only fuel his ire. Connor Macleod didn't do worried well.

Amazingly, Richie didn't seem remotely fazed, straightening to his full height he looked Connor straight in the eye. "I don't know about you," His tone was soft but resolute. "But I've been practising."

"You're not ready!"

"Connor, that's not exactly helpful." Adam shook his head.

"No, its alright," Richie squared up to Connor. "I can fight my own battles."

"I told you not to follow me."

"You know what, you actually followed me here. You weren't even supposed to be in Paris .."

"Ah, so you thought I've never find out is that it?" Connor scoffed.

"I thought you'd find my Dad!"

In the stunned silence that followed, Richie turned away from the stricken looks worn by Connor and the others. Duncan watched out of the corner of his eye as the lad bit his lip and visibly struggled to bring his feelings under control.

"Risteard," Connor said at last. Gently. Almost conciliatorily.

"You know him better than anyone Connor," Richie's tone was remarkably even, especially given that from where he was standing Duncan could see the raw anguish that was still very evident in his expression. "If you can't find him, then no-one can."

"Perhaps that's just what he wants." Adam suggested lightly.

Richie shook his head once, a hard negative. "He wouldn't just disappear. What if something happened to him? He'd leave something. A Clan marker. A sign. Something."

"We don't know that." Connor soothed. "He could just be taking care that Ares has to trail to follow."

"Shall we check?" Richie laughed, a harsh painful sound. He looked up and saw Duncan watching him. "If you had had to hide a pre-immortal child from an Immortal who was hunting you, would you just trust to luck that he wouldn't whack you?"

Duncan hesitated. He knew such a strategy was far too risky. Nobody could afford to be that arrogant, especially when another's life was at stake. He always ensured that at least two other trusted friends knew about the existence and location of any pre-immortal he was watching. That way their future was assured even if his was not. But he doubted that was the answer the lad stricken needed to hear.

To his amazement, Richie seemed to read the answer in his expression. "That's kinda what I thought." He nodded softly. He blinked up at Duncan and his eyes were bright with tears. "Its pretty cold out here. You should get Tessa home. I'll meet you there."

Without another word he swung his leg over the waiting motorcycle and gunned it into life, before jamming the helmet onto his head.

"Wait!" Duncan felt compelled to say something, anything. "You don't even know where it is."

"I'll find it." Richie sped off in a spray of wet.

Duncan followed his progress as the stream of his exhaust as it marked his trail along the riverbank.

"This man he thinks of as his father. He's dead isn't he?"

"I don't know," Connor admitted, his tone heavy with grief. "But I'm afraid he may be."

* * *

In truth Duncan was glad of the assembled company. He knew he would have to face the sharp edge of Tessa's temper soon enough, when he told her about the Game. But he'd much rather take his chances when she was well rested and relaxed. As he tucked the sheets a little more securely around her sleeping figure the familiar and reassuring odours emanating from the kitchen told him Connor had wasted no time in making himself at home.

So, it was with a raised eyebrow that he popped his head around the galley door to see Adam directing operations, as Darius sliced and diced, with Connor up to his elbows in hot, soapy water.

"You make a fine pot boy, kinsman." He teased.

Connor scowled and flicked a ball of bubbles at him that Duncan easily sidestepped.

"Do you mind?" Adam glared at them both as he quickly moved the sizzling pan out of harm's way from a stray dollop of suds. Returning the pan to the heat he gave it a brisk stir. "If he's gone to McDonalds, I'm going to kill him."

"Maybe he got lost," Duncan offered. "How well does he know Paris?"

The sudden wash of an immortal presence silenced all discussion.

"Richie?" Duncan asked. "Or Ares?"

"Let's not take any chances." Connor decided, gathering Adam with a glance to stand sentry by the front door, leaving Duncan to cover the far door, beside which Tessa slept on oblivious. To Duncan's astonishment, Darius took up position beside him, a very businesslike broadsword emerging from the depths of his robe. In response to the Scot's incredulous expression he simply shrugged.

The sound of the lock turning on the front door was swiftly followed by the arrival of a blonde, curly head.

"Whoa, chill, its just me."

Sensibly, in Duncan's opinion, the lad stood stock still with his arms extended and his palms open, looking as unthreatening as possible as all breathed a sigh of relief and put up their blades. Even among friends carelessness or bravado in the face of a naked blade could cause a nasty, even a fatal accident. Someone had taught the lad well.

Duncan just wasn't entirely sure that someone was Connor.

Or at least, not just Connor.

"Make yourself at home, why don't you?"

The lad's head whipped round sharply at the dry tone. Duncan simply waited. This Richie had been quick enough to read him before. Chances were his message would come through loud and clear.

"Sorry," Sure enough, the lad's whole posture relaxed at the oblique apology and he offered the Scot a shy smile. "Old habits. Where I come from, knocking just gives people more time to get ready to shoot you."

"Richard, I presume," Darius stepped forward and offered his hand. "I understand that we have met before in another time but I'm afraid I have no recollection of it."

"That's OK," Richie reached forward to shake Darius' hand. "From what I remember we don't actually meet for a while yet, anyway. Its good to see you."

"We didn't meet until you were seventeen?" Darius looked troubled.

"Eighteen actually," Richie "Maa .. um .. we were in Seacouver before that."

"You two know each other?" Duncan blinked.

"I've known of him, for quite a while," Darius admitted. "I only wish our paths could have crossed sooner."

"Its later than you think," Adam spoke up. "And you wouldn't be meeting now if the boy Robin here could take a hint."

"You shot me," Richie countered as he sank wearily onto the couch and tipped his head back, closing his eyes. "You didn't really expect me to take that lying down. Besides, I needed to come." He waved a vague hand in the direction of their earlier confrontation with Ares.

"You couldn't just have trusted me to take care of it?" Adam looked down with concern at the gaunt lines of tension on the otherwise youthful face.

Richie opened one eye and regarded him warily. "Did I screw something up?"

"The _six _of us?"

"Ah, that," To Duncan's eye Richie looked for all the world like a kid who had gotten caught sneaking out when he was grounded. "You were the one who re-set all the security protocols. You must have known I couldn't get through them without Amanda's help and she always has her price."

"So, you brought her along." Adam sighed.

"Amanda's here?" Duncan squawked with a lurch of alarm that had nothing to do with the current crisis. "In Paris?"

"Don't worry," Richie turned his head and regarded him with a look of understanding. "I booked her into the Ritz and let her think that she had lifted my credit card. She'll be having far too much fun spending my money to come here and stir up any trouble with Tess."

Duncan was impressed. It was exactly the kind of tactics he had used to keep Amanda occupied in the past. It was guaranteed to be effective and very, very expensive. He was touched that the lad had gone to so much trouble to solve something that was essentially his problem.

"When you get the bill, I'll cover it."

Richie opened his mouth to tell the Scot that it was no problem he was good for the cash. But the look in Duncan's eyes was so warm, and familiar that he was powerless to refuse him.

"Thanks," He smiled. "I guess I owe you one, huh?"

"Actually, I think I owe you one, well, two actually," Duncan looked away, feeling slightly abashed at the need to make so public an apology. Still, as he had been willing enough to ream the lad out as the world and his wife looked on it seemed only fitting. "About this afternoon,"

"Mac, its OK, I understand," Richie assured him earnestly. "You were just lookin' out for Tessa."

The odd thing was that Duncan had the impression that he truly did understand. The Scot knew that he had a tendency to be over protective with those he loved and that he was not always rational when their welfare was threatened.

"Still," Duncan gave a rueful shrug. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Richie smiled.

"Happy as I am for the two of you," Adam cut in. "Amanda's arrival has left us with rather more of a problem than whether or not Tessa will decide to take a rusty knife to the Macleod family jewels."

"I'll thank you to leave me out of this. Amanda and I are not a couple," Three sets of eyes swivelled towards Connor and he had the grace to blush and add. "Well, not anymore."

"Connor!" Duncan exclaimed, shocked.

"It was a long time ago, Duncan," Connor tried to pour oil on troubled water. "You know what it used to be like when a woman alone managed a business. We ran an alehouse together for a time."

"An alehouse?" Darius' lips quirked into a small smile. "I always thought that little house on the corner of Rue St Henri was a brothel."

"Yes alright," Connor huffed. "Don't we have other business to attend to? Like how we are going to defeat Ares?"

"We?" Richie went to put his feet on the coffee table, only to halt them in mid air inches about the polished wood and glance apologetically at the Scot. "Sorry, I keep forgetting I'm not at home."

"And would your Da let you do that?"

"If he was in a good mood he would." Richie flashed him a winsome smile that Duncan warranted had melted harder hearts than his. And the lad had undoubtedly saved Tessa's life that day. Still, there were limits. He leaned in a little closer and swatted the boots back to the floor, biting back a grin when Richie produced a perfect teenage pout.

"Take your boots off first."

Only as the lad laboriously reached over to pick ineffectually at one of the buckles did Duncan realise how close to exhaustion Richie really was. He saw the others exchange similar looks of concern, but to his surprise it was Adam who dropped to the floor and batted Richie's hands away, his touch deft and sure as he worked the stiff, wet, leather.

"Thanks," Richie leant back again and closed his eyes. "Gotta conserve my energy for the big game, right?" he murmured.

Suddenly, Adam froze, as his face drained of blood and went completely expressionless.

"You planned this," he realised. "You _wanted_ us all here to force Ares' hand."

Richie's eyes snapped open, wide with surprise, as if he'd only just realised that he had said more than he'd intended. But he met Adam's gaze with clear challenge.

"I didn't choose to fight Ares, or even to be any part of this. The only choice that dammed prophecy gave me was where the fight takes place. Well, I choose here, with all my friends and family around me. So, let him bring it on, I'm ready."

"And you don't think another hundred years or so might have helped?"

Richie surged to his feet in a move Duncan recognised as driven by pure adrenalin. He saw the faint tremor that ran through the lad's hands and wondered when he had lad ate or slept.

"And in the meantime, I get to stand back and watch him pick off the rest my family one by one? No way. This ends now. I'm not going to let that bastard touch a single other person I love."

"Look at you," Adam had obviously spotted it too, because he seized Richie's shaking hand and held it up in front of his face. "You're in no shape to fight."

"Then help me," Richie demanded. "Because this is going to happen whether you like it or not."


	6. Reflection

AN – Apologies for the long gap. RL gets in the way sometimes

Many thanks to everyone for the reviews. Phbalance - pre-immie Rich will turn up but you've a few chapters to wait for that! LoMaRiMa – sorry couldn't manage soon, but this is a long chapter so will you take extra more instead? Neoinean - Darius has quite a role to play as you'll see and Amanda will join in soon, and as for Mac and pre-immie Richie – hmm, well, yes you would, think that wouldn't you? (grins evilly) Moone 31 - sorry another long gap but hopefully worth it, thanks for the kind words and your support. Ivy – just for you Tessa will wake up this chapter. Tammi – So glad you're still enjoying. To clarify, we don't know that Mac is dead, but we don't know that he isn't. Ares does know, but he's not telling. Jamie - thank you for your review, its always nice to know that people are actually reading – and Sarai I'm sorry you're not enjoying this as much as The Plague, perhaps if you could comment on what you like/don't like I can try to improve on that for you. And finally many thanks to SC for the quote from Season Two's "The Watchers." Gotta love those DVDs.

* * *

Richie and Adam stood in the centre of the room, their gazes locked together. For a moment Duncan thought that neither was going to give ground. Then, unexpectedly, Adam sighed and dropped Richie's hand, acknowledging defeat.

"Well, if you put it like that."

"Yeah, I do."

It was barely noticeable, but the slight sag of his shoulders telegraphed that Richie hadn't, in fact, been as sure of his victory as his determined tone suggested. Duncan filed that bit of information way for future reference. Whatever was going on the blonde was still young enough to make mistakes.

And mistakes could kill.

"And if Ares has other ideas?" Connor put in. "Battle cannot be joined until he issues the final challenge. You could be waiting from now until doomsday."

"He won't make me wait." Richie was resolute.

"You can't know that."

"You think?" Richie cast a sour glance at him. "He doesn't think I'm ready either. I'm betting he ain't gonna want to give me another century or so to invent new ways to kill him."

"You only need one way." Adam's tone was grim.

"Hold on a minute," Duncan couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You expect the lad here to face Ares?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that right now the exhausted teenager didn't look fit to fight his way out of a paper bag. Then he looked at the closed expression on Connor's face, the air of resignation that hovered around Adam and the deep sense of sorrow emanating from Darius and realised that he was the only one who thought the idea utterly preposterous.

"He's older than he looks." Darius offered, tactfully in Arabic.

"He speaks pretty good Arabic as well." Despite the priest's words the tired grin Richie directed at Darius made him look achingly, impossibly young.

"Sorry." Darius shrugged, not looking the slightest bit repentant.

"Just what did I say in that e-mail anyway?" Adam, whose Arabic was also more than adequate Duncan surmised, scowled irritably at Darius.

"Ah," The priest regarded the dark haired man with a faintly apologetic air. "You told me not to tell."

* * *

Duncan watched out of the corner of his eye as Richie practically inhaled the meal that Adam had prepared and then without a shadow of self-consciousness licked the plate clean.

"More?" Adam asked, without looking up.

Richie thought about it for a minute.

"No, I'm good thanks."

"Alright then," Duncan put his own still full plate aside. "Enough stalling. I want some answers. What the hell is going on here?"

He'd been willing enough to wait until they had all had something to eat. God knows they looked like they needed it. But his patience was rapidly wearing thin.

"In the military there is such a thing as need to know." Connor pointed out.

"Russell Nash isn't in the military," Adam interjected. "And he does need to know."

"If I may?" Darius put in smoothly, temporarily silencing both Immortals, by reaching into the folds of his habit and producing small leather bound book.

"You don't happen to have a Coke in there too, do you?" Richie asked with a grin.

"There's mineral water in the fridge if you're thirsty." Duncan offered, starting to stand up.

"That's cool, I'll fetch it," Richie stood up and stepped over Adam's outstretched legs and headed towards the tiny galley, calling back over his shoulder. "Anyone else want anything?"

Nobody did. Although Adam grumbled that he was out of beer. Which was, Duncan reflected only because the dark haired Immortal had drunk it all.

"Hey, this is a dishwasher," Richie's voice called back indignantly. "Who moved the fridge?"

"Its next to the washing machine." Connor called back.

"Oh. Right. First place anyone would look." Richie sounded sarcastic.

Duncan frowned. The fridge _had _originally been where the dishwasher was, until about six months ago, when Tessa had complained that as Duncan usually cooked, she was always the one who pulled kitchen duty and demanded he install a dishwasher. But there was no way the lad could have known that. It was just chance he decided. All the wooden fronted units looked the same, after all.

"Duncan?" Darius' voice asked.

Duncan looked up and realised that the priest had opened the book and was waiting patiently for the Scot to pay attention.

"Sorry," Duncan scrubbed at his face and waved a hand apologetically. "Go on."

"And in the last days," Darius read. "In a place out of time, the last shall meet the first, each carrying, the strength and hope of all with them, and so it will be decided and henceforth there will be only one power across the face of the earth."

"_What_?" Duncan asked.

"See," Richie reappeared, twisting the top off a bottle of Perrier and shooting Adam an amused look. "I told you, you should have written it in English."

"In case you hadn't noticed, that _is _English."

"The last days are the Gathering, of course, the first is Ares," Darius glanced up briefly before reading on. "For it is written that the first will carry with him the experience of all time."

"Of all time?" Duncan felt his chest tighten. "How old is he?"

"Very." Adam's tone was clipped.

"Its not as bad as it sounds. Listen," Darius continued reading. "Yet he will be his only succour and he will stand or fall by his own hand."

"So, he's supposed to fight alone? What about those goons with the trucks at the river?"

"Mercenaries." Connor dismissed them.

"Ah."

Duncan knew as well as his kinsman that a group did not necessarily make an effective fighting force, no matter how skilled the individuals. Men who fought merely for money could be easily swayed. The bonds that held a Clan together meant each man fought for his neighbour as much as for himself.

"And the last shall carry with him the strength and hope of all." Darius' voice echoed around the barge.

"The last surviving Immortal?" Duncan guessed.

"If only it where that simple, my friend," Darius shook his head. "The last is the youngest surviving Immortal at the time of the Gathering."

"But that's ridiculous. Pre-immortals are still being born all over the world. How will anyone ever know who is the youngest to survive?"

"Because it's a Prophecy," Adam cut in with exaggerated patience. "Its tells us what is going to happen in the future."

"You can't actually believe that." Duncan scoffed. Nothing that had happened to him in his long life had ever convinced him that anything but his wits and his sword arm controlled his destiny. He looked at Connor. Surely his mentor didn't believe such fanciful notions?

"Duncan?" Tessa's voice drifted through the barge.

Duncan's chest tightened. He still had no idea how he was going to explain any of this, Ares, the Game, the killing, to Tessa.

"You have to tell her, kinsman." Connor's tone was sympathetic but firm.

"I know," Duncan sighed. "Does your crystal ball say how that is going to turn out?"

"Don't try and leave her," Connor gave him a knowing smile. "That one isn't about to let you get away."

Duncan felt a shock almost like pain. How could Connor have known that was exactly what he was thinking?

"Just tell her the truth," Richie's voice advised quietly. Duncan looked up to see the blonde's bright blue eyes regarding him with compassion. "She won't like it. She'll probably yell and scream and smoke half a pack of cigarettes. She might even say some stuff that she doesn't really mean. But in the end she'll accept it, because its part of you. Part of who you are, and she loves you man, big time."

Duncan gave him a twisted grin. "Hope so."

* * *

Tessa Noel twisted the stub of her cigarette into the hardwood deck and immediately lit another, drawing deep and blowing out tendrils of smoke into the chill evening air.

"Those things will kill you, you know."

She turned around to look over her shoulder at the figure lounging against the rail.

"As oppose to being cut down in the street?" she returned acidly.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. He didn't deserve her anger and as he held his hands up placating and started to turn away she could see that she had hurt his feelings. "No, Richie, isn't it? Wait. I'm sorry." She reached out and caught at his cuff. "Don't go. I didn't mean that. I'm just .."

"Pissed?" he suggested wryly.

She almost laughed at his frank assessment. Although she herself would never have used such a vulgar expression, right now that was exactly how she felt.

"I never even thanked you for saving my life."

"You just did," he settled on the step beside her. "You got another one of those?"

In spite of herself, Tessa regarded him with an amused smile as she offered the pack and her lighter. "Are you sure you're old enough to smoke?"

"Pretty sure," He grinned, as he expertly lit the cigarette, cupping his hand to shield it from the breeze coming off the Seine, took a long draw and then completely spoilt the effect by coughing wildly, prompting Tessa to pound him on the back.

"Thanks," he croaked. "Guess I'm a bit out of practice."

"I should give up," Tessa sighed. "I keep meaning to."

"You're pretty mad at him, huh?"

"It's been twelve years. Twelve years! How dare he keep something like this from me? Damn Duncan Macleod and his determination to protect the little woman."

"Yeah, but Mac's been at this for almost four hundred years. You can't blame the guy for wanting a time out."

"Excuse me?"

"When I was a kid I thought it would be so cool to be Immortal. The places I'd see. The things I'd do. The swords. Living forever. I mean, what's not to like?"

"You knew already, about Immortals?"

"I saw something. A challenge. Man I was so scared. I thought for sure the guy would come after me next. And he did. He took me in and gave me a home and a family for the first time in real long time. I guess I kinda hero-worshipped him. It was like living with Superman or something. And then _I_ became Immortal." He pressed his lips together. "I had no idea, Tess, None at all. Ma .. my Dad he had tried to tell me. But you can't know. Not until you have to live it. Always thinking, is today the day I meet someone who's better than me? Is today the day that someone I love will suffer because of what I am? Watching those you love grow old and die and being powerless to do anything about it. Sometimes, you just want to be a normal guy for a bit, you know?"

"You were just a boy," Tessa wasn't at all sure she was ready to let Duncan off the hook just yet. "Duncan was a grown man. He knew exactly what he was getting into."

"And he'd just met a women he loved more than anything and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Who wouldn't want to pretend that was possible? Even for a little while?" The pain of his own loss came clearly through his words.

"You too?" Tessa put a sympathetic hand on his arm.

"All of us, I think, at one time or another," he forced a smile. "Even Connor."

Tessa considered that, looking out over the dark waters of the river as she tried to gather her thoughts.

"I love him, I do. But I don't know if I can live with this Game."

"You can," Richie slipped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her lightly. "I know you can. Its kinda like being married to a cop or something, there's a lot of stress put on the relationship, you know? I mean, you coulda gone for a Dentist some steady guy who comes home every night and tell you about Mrs. Goodman's bridgework and abscesses and he'd make you floss three times a day with the un-waxed stuff. But you weren't cut out for that."

"Oh," Tessa regarded him with amusement. "And what was I cut out for?"

"Mac," Richie said simply. "You guys belong together."

* * *

Duncan wasn't at all sure how he had allowed himself to be talked into this. But the waiting was killing him.

"It's been almost an hour." He protested.

"Forty two minutes." Adam corrected, from where he sat, slouched on the couch, without bothering to look at a watch. Or even open his eyes for that matter.

"Long enough." Duncan decided.

Taking the steps two at a time he bounded up onto the deck, coming to a dead halt when he saw Richie sitting with his arm around Tessa and his head resting on her shoulder.

And _snoring._

In spite of his concern he felt a smile tug at the edge of his mouth, which he quickly quashed, certain that neither of them would see the humour in the situation.

As his shadow fell over them, Tessa looked up and in a glance look, banished each and every one of Duncan's fears.

"I'm sorry." She smiled.

"I'm sorry, myself," Duncan apologised. "I should have told you."

"Yes, you should," Tessa agreed. "But even Immortals are not infallible, I think."

She cast a fond glance at Richie, who was sleeping soundly on her shoulder, his mouth hanging slightly open as he snored lightly. "He's exhausted."

"I know," Duncan squatted down beside them. Up close he could see the thin, angular lines of the lad's pale face, the hollow cheeks and the dark bags under his eyes that spoke of a stress too long borne. "I hate to wake him."

"Then don't."

"Tessa, they can't _all_ stay here and I can't see Adam or Connor letting him out of their sight." Duncan protested, sotto voice. Much as he appreciated his lover's apparent acceptance of the present situation, the fact remained that the barge wasn't exactly built for accommodating so many adult Houseguests.

"Its late Duncan, and its cold. You can't send them out into the night."

"They're Immortal. Its not as if they can freeze to death."

"That is besides the point.

Duncan sighed. Truth be told, he'd feel better if there were other Immortals around. Ares had already gone after Tessa once. There was nothing to say he wouldn't do it again. He supposed Connor and Adam could share the spare room under the wheelhouse. Darius, would no doubt want to return to his Parish duties, at least for now. He wondered, briefly, if he might be able to persuade Tessa to go with him. She'd be safer on Holy Ground. But the dangerous glint in her eyes warned him not to suggest it. They'd had enough arguments for one night. And as for Richie, well there was always the couch.

It took a bit of fast-talking for him to convince Tessa that he couldn't just scoop the lad up and carry him off to bed. Richie might look like a teenager, but there was no telling how old he actually was and the Scot was sure that there was just enough pubescence pride left in his genes that he would be mortified at being treated like a bairn.

Of course, there was the small matter of actually rousing the lad.

"Rich, c'mon Richie," he shook his shoulder gently. "You can't sleep here. Wake up."

"Hmm. Just five more minutes." Richie bargained.

"Come along Richie," Tessa coaxed. "You will catch your death out here."

"Mmm," Richie wasn't agreeing. "'M not cold. S'nice."

He snuggled a little closer to Tessa.

"Hey, Tough Guy," Duncan chided tolerantly. "That's _my_ girl friend."

Richie's eyes snapped open as he sat bolt upright, all traces of fatigue gone. "Dad?" he looked at Duncan hopefully.

Seeing his earnest expression, Duncan felt a pang of sorrow for the lad. Whoever he was, his father was dammed lucky to have a son who loved him like that.

"Sorry," His voice was tight with sympathy. "Its just me."

Realisation swept across Richie's face like a wash of pain, swiftly followed by a flat, closed, expression that made Duncan's heart ache.

"Right. Sorry." He looked over at Tessa. "Sorry. I guess I was pretty wiped, huh?"

"It doesn't matter." Tessa assured him.

"C'mon," Duncan offered him a hand up. "You can stay here tonight. On the couch." He deliberately let a teasing note enter his voice.

"Here?" Richie blinked, looking slightly panicked. "You want me to stay on the barge?"

"Of course." Tessa assured him. "You and Connor are family. Where else would you stay? I will go and tell the others."

As Tessa departed below decks Richie turned to Duncan in confusion.

"But I can't. I mean I have a suite booked at the Hotel. We can go there."

"You're staying here tonight, Tough Guy and no arguments." Duncan countered in as paternal a fashion as he could manage, feeling only a little guilty at the manipulation. It was clear to him that the lad missed his Da and was desperately looking for someone to fill that void. To his surprise it worked and Richie instantly acquiesced.

"Next thing I know you'll be dragging me off on a run." He groused, half-heartedly.

"If you like," Duncan grinned wickedly. "How does six a.m. sound?"

"Like torture actually."

"We could go to MacDonalds for breakfast on the way back," he suggested, shrugging at Richie's startled expression. "Adam mentioned you liked it."

"Man," Richie positively glowed. "You would really not believe how long it's been since I last had a Big Mac."

"Then its settled," He patted him lightly on the back. "Better make sure you get a good night's sleep."

"Yeah," Richie smiled up at him. "You know what, for the first time in what seems like forever I think I actually might."

"Nightmares?" Duncan had seen the signs.

Richie looked steadfastly at his feet and for a moment he thought the lad wasn't going to answer him. But then he nodded.

"Oh yeah."

Powerless to know how to help, Duncan raised his hand, intending to offer a brief, consoling pat on the shoulder. Except that he looked so dammed forlorn, standing there in the chill night air, with his head bowed and the breeze ruffling his blonde curls. Like he had the weight of the whole dammed world on his shoulders.

"Hey, We'll get through this. All of us. Together." He slid his hand around to cup the back of Richie's neck, the soft warmth of the skin to skin contact creating an unexpectedly intimate connectionagainst the cold evening. Richie's head came up sharply, his eyes wide and vulnerable and for a long moment he simply looked at him, as if weighing the sincerity of that gesture.

Then he grinned, with all the confidence of youth.

"Hey, I saw him first."

And for the first time Duncan began to think that just maybe this Ares wouldn't know what had hit him.


	7. Redirection

AN – Thanks again for all the reviews. I saw the length of my replies and wrote to everyone I could by e-mail instead! For Sarai I'm sorry you found the time travel confusing, Its not really a feature of the rest of the story, which is much more about how Richie's relationship with this Mac and Tessa develops in the light of his knowledge of what is to come. Amanda and Rebecca will both feature in subsequent chapters.

* * *

Predictably, Connor had hadn't been overly impressed with the sleeping arrangements, muttering darkly about the feather beds that the Hotel was famous for and people who snored. Adam for his part hadn't seemed the least bit perturbed that they were to make themselves at home, although he did murmur quietly.

"He doesn't sleep too well in strange places."

"Nightmares," Duncan nodded. "He said."

Adam raised one brow in mild surprise, but accepted that without question.

In the event Richie slept deeply for almost ten hours, as his body desperately sought to replace lost energy. Not even stirring as the rest of the household got up and went about their day around him.

"Tess," Duncan tried to reason with her. "I just don't think it's a good idea right now."

"But I have an appointment to meet M. Dumas at the Gallery," Tessa paused in the action of putting on her coat. "If I don't go I will lose the commission."

"Couldn't you put him off?"

Her eyes flashed. "Is this how our life is to be now? Am I to be forever some sort of prisoner?"

"Its just for a day or two." Duncan tried to placate her.

"Actually," Connor cut in. "I was wondering if I might come with you?"

"As a body guard?" Tessa asked coldly.

"As an Antique Dealer," Connor corrected. "There are a number of new young artists in Paris whose work will become quite valuable in years to come."

"Such things are never certain," Tessa shook her head lightly, looking thoughtful. "But I could make some suggestions."

As they left Duncan mouthed 'thank you' to his kinsman behind Tessa's back and received a rankish grin in return.

"He's going to make an absolute killing." Adam observed, shrugging into his own coat.

"Maybe," Duncan shrugged. As Tessa said such things were never certain and most artists didn't come into their own until after they were dead. "Where are you going?"

"To see Darius. We need some sort of a plan."

"What about the lad here?" Duncan gestured towards the sleeping figure on the couch.

"He's asleep. He won't be any trouble."

"What if he wakes up?"

"Just try and keep him out of harms way," Adam advised "And don't let him have too much sugar."

* * *

It was almost ten am by the time Richie finally stirred, gradually coming to full consciousness with a stretch and a yawn that belied Adam's comment about his being uncomfortable in strange places.

"Sleep well?" Duncan asked, from where he was reading in the easy chair.

"Yeah, real good thanks," Richie glanced up at the streaming sunlight. "I thought we were going for a run?"

"We still can. You needed to sleep."

"I guess," Richie sat up, letting the blankets pool around him, twisting his neck slightly to work out a crick. "Where is everyone?"

Duncan told him, calling back over his shoulder as he ducked into the galley to fetch coffee and brioche and thinking of teenage appetites added some cheese and ham as well.

"Here." He put the tray down in front of Richie and took a cup of coffee for himself.

"You're not eating?"

"I already had breakfast." Duncan glanced meaningfully at the clock.

"Oh." Richie's face fell slightly.

Duncan bit back a grin. So, there was still more than a touch of genuine teenager in the lad.

"We can go to MacDonald's for lunch."

"Yeah? Thanks Mac," thus reassured Duncan watched as Richie dug in, assembling a towering cheese and ham sandwich and taking a large, satisfied bite.

"Do you call Connor that?" He asked out of curiosity.

"What? Mac?" Richie grinned and shook his head. "Not unless I want to be wearing my insides on the outside. Um. You don't mind, do you?"

Duncan shook his head.

"So," Richie looked up. "What's the plan for today?"

"I'm supposed to keep you out of trouble. Any ideas?"

"Well, I guess a trip to Flash is out," Richie named a particularly disreputable nightclub. "How about a workout?"

Duncan blinked. To workout with another Immortal required a serious show of trust. Even though Richie was apparently in some way Connor's student, although Duncan still wasn't exactly sure about that, he was surprised that the offer was so readily made.

"Alright," he agreed, reciprocating Richie's trust with some of his own. "But eat first, you're going to need the energy."

"Um," Richie spoke around a mouthful. "I'm going to need a sword too."

"You don't have a _sword_?"

"Well, I have one. Just not here, exactly."

"Where exactly?" Duncan spoke between gritted teeth. What the hell was Connor thinking of, letting the lad run around without a sword? It was the first lesson he had taught him. Keep it with you.

"It's a really long story," Richie looked away, his eyes hooded. "My Dad's using it right now and its not like I can just ask him to give it back."

"Oh," That made some sort of sense at least, Duncan supposed. He could easily imagine Richie impulsively offering his own weapon if his father had need of it. Still, his stomach churned slightly at the memory of Richie facing down Ares yesterday, without a sword to hand. Well, he could do something about that at least. Assessing the lad's height, build and reach, Duncan strode over to an oak chest at the back of the barge and started piling stuff onto the floor, until he had uncovered a large, flat, box.

"Here," As Richie finished his breakfast and wiped his fingers on his napkin, Duncan slid the box onto the coffee table. "Try this one for size." It was a hand and a half Gothic bastard sword, a sturdy workhorse of a blade that Duncan had picked up at a recent auction. It wasn't flashy and there was a little damage to the hilt, but it would serve its intended purpose well enough.

"Thanks." Richie nodded in gratitude, but Duncan had seen a flash of disappointment as he opened the box. No doubt he had hoped for something rather more glamorous. Come to think of it, Graham Ashe's sword would be perfect for him. But he quashed that thought. It was Connor's right to give him a sword.

"Go on then," Duncan encouraged. "Go get yourself ready and we'll see how well you do."

* * *

They started carefully, Duncan testing out Richie's style and stamina. The lad watching and apparently waiting for Duncan to fully commit to the fight, as he offered a range of attack and countermeasures. He was good, Duncan decided. He saw something of Connor in there, and Amanda, although the lad had clearly had other teachers, Adam he supposed and if he hadn't known better he would have sworn there was something of Fitz's influence in there.

They went back and forth at it for a while, falling into an easy rhythm, like Tennis players warming up before a match, giving each other the opportunity to attack and defence, advance or give ground, working moves, muscles and memory. After a good hour or so of this, Duncan decided to see what the lad was really made of.

"Alright," Grinning ferally he circled round, his sword at the ready. "Best of three?"

"Bring it on." Richie nodded, sharply, his eyes bright with excitement, it was an established sparring technique and one Connor would have used with him, the first to draw blood would win the point.

Duncan went in fast and low, hoping to unbalance him and force him to parry too broadly. But to his surprise, the lad was ready for him, blocking his blade and twisting under it to nick his side with the point.

"Blood."

Richie stepped back and stood ready. Duncan looked down and wiped his fingers over the rapidly healing nick. "So, I see," he acknowledged wryly. Still, the lad had done well. He nodded. "Very good. Let's see if you can do it again."

This time he went to the right, which he had noted was the lad's weaker side and used a little know Italian fencing move to slip under the lad's guard, nicking him decisively on the bicep.

"Blood. Two all." Duncan stood back and waited for the lad to collect himself.

"Oh man," Richie protested. "There goes another shirt."

"You don't want to ruin your wardrobe, don't get hit." Duncan advised without sympathy.

That might have been a mistake, he acknowledged, as Richie came at him again, with renewed determination. This time it took much longer, neither wiling to concede the final point and defeat. And then suddenly, it was over. Duncan went to feint right and Richie anticipated the move, dropping his blade and leaving himself wide open for a scant second, before twisting the blade at the last moment and taking Duncan's feet out from under him. Still, gasping slightly from the impact of the fall, Duncan felt the point of Richie's sword at his throat and looked up to see the lad standing over him, grinning broadly.

"Blood."

Duncan regarded him in stony silence, pointedly ignoring Richie's offered hand as he hauled himself to his feet and squared up to the teen.

"Hey, c'mon Mac," Richie's grin faltered. "I beat you fair and square."

"What the _hell_, were you thinking?" Duncan hissed, between tightly gritted teeth.

"What did I do?"

"What did he do?" Duncan muttered, starting to pace, unable to believe the lad could be so clueless. "What did he _do_?" He stopped and turned on his feet to face Richie. "Are you that naïve? Nine times out of ten that move will get you killed. You have to leave yourself wide open to make the attacking blow. It's reckless not to mention downright dangerous. You _never_ use it, except as an absolute last resort and certainly not in practice with an Immortal that you barely know!"

"But I .." Richie started to protest. Then abruptly stopped. "You're right. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

Duncan studied him intently, as he worked to bring his own feelings under control.

"You'll do your Da no service by getting yourself, killed," he counselled. "He'd expect you to do your best to survive no matter what."

"You think?" Richie looked away.

"Of course," Duncan paused. Was there something else going on here? "You don't think so?"

"He left me," Richie's tone was flat. "He knew I needed him, big time, and he went off and left me."

* * *

"Alright," Duncan pushed away the last of the red and gold cardboard boxes with a sigh and sat back on the couch. "I'm done."

"Really?" Richie leant over and peered in one of the boxes. "You not eating those?"

"Go for it."

He watched indulgently as Richie wolfed down the rest of the fries. There was nothing wrong with the lad's appetite at least.

"You want to talk about it?" he offered casually.

"Not unless, I want Connor to fillet me like a fish," Richie shook his head. "He has this whole spy secret stuff thing going."

"And do you always do what Connor tells you?"

"Not even close," Richie shook his head.

He continued to eat and Duncan wondered if he was going to tell him after all. But he had the feeling that if he just waited and didn't press then it would come. Lord knows the lad needed to talk about this.

"My Mom and Dad weren't together when I was a kid. I grew up in a whole bunch of foster homes and none of the guys I called Dad ever stuck around for long. By the time I hooked up with him, my Dad had to work real hard to earn my trust. But he just kept at it. That's what makes it so hard. He knows the worst thing he could ever do to me would be to leave me, but he did it anyway."

"Then he must have had a good reason," Duncan wasn't quite sure why he was defending the man. Except if the lad loved him this fiercely he couldn't be all bad. "Did he know about Ares?"

"Yeah, we'd had a run in or two with him already," Richie ran a hand through his hair. "That's kinda why he left. Ares decided to go after this other kid. A pre-immortal. Which is cool you know, I mean, some one had to help the kid, but why did it have to be him? Didn't he think about me?" He swallowed hard.

"I'd say your Dad is very proud of you."

"So, he _ditches _me? How do you figure that?"

"He trusts you. He trusts that you'll be all right. That you'll know to do the right thing. He would never have left you otherwise."

"I guess," Richie bit his lip. "Its just, I miss him."

"I think you're supposed to," Duncan observed dryly. It had been almost four hundred years and he still missed those times when he could rely on his father's quiet wisdom and steady presence fiercely. "But we carry them with us. Everyone we've ever loved and everyone we've ever lost. They never leave us."

"Oh." Richie said softly, as if a long forgotten memory had just fallen into place.

Duncan nudged him gently. "Just because he can't be here right now doesn't mean he's stopped loving you."

"Yeah, I get that now." He gave him a warm smile. "Thanks Mac, you've been a big help."

Duncan felt a rush of affectionate pleasure that he had been able to make things better for the lad. Richie was a good kid he just needed a little guidance. He wondered if this was what it was like to be a father? Any man would be pleased to have such a son. Feeling unaccountably parental he fixed the lad with a stern look.

"What would your Da have done if you'd pulled a stunt like this afternoon?"

"He probably woulda had me sanding the deck for a week." Richie admitted ruefully.

"You have a boat?"

"When I was a kid we did. Seems like there was always something that needed painting or sanding, whenever I screwed up."

"Sounds like a man after my own heart." Duncan grinned as he gathered up the empty boxes and carried them to the galley to put them in the trash. Richie looked at his retreating back.

"Man, you have no idea."

* * *

They spent the rest of the day working companionably around the barge. Duncan was pleased to discover that the lad had soaked up a lot in his early lessons about boat craft. He worked him hard, watching as the tension leached out of the lad through the simple physical effort. By the time the others returned, he was once more flat out and snoring on the couch.

"Please tell me he has at least moved today." Connor observed, as he brought in the salad.

"Once he had a sword he did." Duncan frowned at him.

Connor gave him an odd look, but all he said was "Did you find him something?"

"Aye," Duncan picked up the sword and showed it to his mentor. "It suits him well enough, but he needs something better."

"You didn't think to give him Graham Ashe's sword?" Connor surprised him.

"I thought of it, but he's your student, Connor."

Connor nodded his acceptance but Duncan sensed that he was rather disappointed by the decision. He couldn't quite understand it. Connor knew how much that sword meant to him and when all was said and done he barely knew the lad.

"So, how did he do?" Adam asked, from where he was setting the table.

"He's good." Duncan acknowledged.

"He knocked you on your bum, didn't he?" Adam smirked.

"He beat you?" Tessa stopped putting out the plates to look with surprise at the sleeping form. "But he's just a boy."

"He's beaten all of us at one time or another," Connor remarked. "Even Adam here."

Duncan could well believe it. The lad moved with the natural grace of a born swordsman and he had been well taught. But he still had his doubts as to whether he had the steel to face an Ancient Immortal like Ares.

"Should we wake him?" Tessa worried as she looked over the dinner table to ensure that they had everything to hand.

"Better had. He gets cranky if he misses a meal."

Duncan watched as Adam woke Richie and paused to exchange a few quiet words that Duncan strained unsuccessfully to catch. Then Adam smiled and squeezed his shoulder firmly, in some show of support or consolation, before tousling his hair with an affectionate simplicity that made Duncan's heart twist.

As the meal progressed he tried to rationalise his feelings. He couldn't be jealous. It wasn't as if he was all that well acquainted with the lad. Yet out of the corner of his eye he found himself watching the lad's every movement as he ate and laughed and made conversation. Across the table he caught the soft sadness in Tessa's eyes and knew what she was thinking.

Was this what it would be like to be a family?

"You should not have to clear the table," Tessa protested as the meal ended and Richie reached for the dirty plates. "You are a guest."

"No, that's okay. I want to," He smiled at her. "You guys cooked after all."

"Actually, it is Duncan who does all the cooking," Tessa admitted as she helped him carry the dishes into the galley. "I usually get stuck with the washing up."

"Really?" Richie threw a dangerous grin in the Scot's direction. "You should get yourself a toy boy."

"Just for that. You can help." Duncan offered with a tight grin, as Tessa shook her head at their antics and retreated to the safety of the salon.

"Didn't they abolish slavery already?" Richie shook his head ruefully, as he rolled up his sleeves.

"Not in France." Duncan grinned as he scraped leftovers into the trash and passed the plate for Richie to rinse off under the tap.

And stilled

For there on the lad's wrist, clear as day, was his Clan mark. The symbol, which had been used for centuries to identify their dead and wounded on the field of battle, claimed the lad as a member of the Clan Macleod, kin as much as if he had been born to it. Following his gaze, Richie paled, his eyes growing wide and anxious.

"Mac .. I .." He trailed off uncertainly.

"What's wrong?" Connor asked from the doorway.

"Sorry," Richie glanced apologetically at him, tugging miserably at the sleeve of his T-shirt as if to cover the mark.

"You knew about this?" Duncan was aghast.

"His father asked for my blessing." Connor nodded carefully.

"And you didn't tell me?" Duncan fumed. "Damn it Connor, this is Clan business. You had no right to keep this from me. You know full well a decision like this affects the whole Clan. What were you thinking? You should have consulted with me before you adopted him. You had no business agreeing to any such thing."

"Duncan," Connor nodded warningly in Richie's direction. Too late Duncan saw that the lad had gone deathly pale and was looking at him with an achingly heartbreaking expression.

"Richie, lad."

He reached forward a hand, but Richie pushed it away and ducked past Connor out of the small galley. Moments later they heard the front door slam and his feet pounding across the quai. Duncan closed his eyes tight in despair. He hadn't meant to hurt the lad's feelings.

"You should probably know," He heard Connor sigh tiredly. "I wasn't the one who adopted the lad, Duncan. You were."

Duncan's eyes snapped open.

"_What_?"


	8. Risk

AN- Wow, thank you everyone so much for all the reviews, it really fires me up to write more when I know people are so interested in the story. A special thank you to Jodi and Annikaya for the kind words, I'm so sorry I couldn't find your e-mails but I really appreciate your comments. Hope you all enjoy the next instalment.

* * *

"I don't understand," Duncan looked blankly at his mentor. "Connor, I'd never even met the lad before the other day. You know that. You were there."

"No, you never did," Connor agreed, "But you would have met him, about three weeks from now, if Ares hadn't taken matters into his own hands."

"That's as maybe, except that mark was made when the lad was still mortal." Duncan ran a hand through his hair. He didn't dispute the fact that his mentor had been _going _to tell him about the Clan mark. It made sense to bring the lad to meet him. What didn't make sense was Connor's insistence that he had had any part in agreeing to the adoption. He wasn't exactly sure how old Richie was, but nobody got to be that skilled with a blade without a great deal of practice. The lad had already worked his way through several teachers. He must have been Immortal for decades, perhaps even centuries.

"You're not listening Duncan. He was mortal enough when you first met him."

"I think I would have remembered."

It wasn't as if he had met that many pre-immortals in his time and he had always made a point of keeping in touch to ensure that they had someone to help them over those first few difficult years of Immortality. He still had a couple of students living. Not necessarily doing him proud, but alive.

"When Richie was a few weeks short of his sixteenth birthday, he broke into your Antique Store and ended up in the middle of a challenge. You killed Slan Quince and Tessa followed you to the Island to stop you from leaving her." Connor attempted to explain.

"First of all, I haven't owned an Antique Store since I got burned over those fake Chinese vases in the 17th century. Secondly, I have never met an Immortal named Slan Quince, let alone fought him and in case you've forgotten the Island is in Washington State and Tessa's never even been out of Europe."

"Yet." Connor regarded him steadily.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Adam put in from the doorway. "That you had better make sure that your passports are up to date. This prophecy has a way of arranging things to its own liking."

"Oh come on," Duncan protested. "You can't really believe that all our destinies are being controlled by some mythical prophecy?"

"What? The sensible practical Scot doesn't hold sway with myths and legends?" Adam challenged.

"What if I don't?"

"What about Cassandra? You remember the witch of Donan woods, don't you? All myths hold an element of truth, Macleod. That's why people remember then. What about Santa Claus? Excalibur?" Adam tipped his head on one side. "Methos."

"Methos isn't real."

"Are you quite sure about that?"

* * *

Duncan watched with his arms folded across his chest as Adam spoke in quiet tones into the phone. The language was like nothing he had ever heard spoken, soft and musical, like notes on a wooden pipe.

It was also bloody annoying, as it meant he couldn't tell what was being said.

"Alright," Adam put the phone down and looked at Connor. "Darius is on his way. He just needs a few moments to collect something en route."

"Such as the oldest living Immortal?" Duncan raised a sceptical brow.

"Why do people find that idea so hard to believe?"

Duncan supposed that of all the surviving Immortals, one of them would inevitably be the oldest. He'd heard of a few Ancient Immortals, Darius, of course, Grayson, this Ares seemed to be one. But still. It was the scale that was hard to comprehend.

"Five Thousand years?" He shook his head.

"I do not understand," Tessa looked up from where she was sitting on the sofa and glared at the pair of them. "Why do you even care about who is the oldest? When what you should be worrying about is finding Richie!"

"Darius has people looking." Adam assured her. Sometimes Darius' network of clerics was more useful than the Watchers. They were certainly more discreet and they had easy access to holy ground.

"He'll be fine Tess," Duncan attempted to soothe her. "He's old enough to take care of himself."

"No-one is ever too old to need the love and support of family. You of all people should know this, Duncan Macleod of the blessed Clan Macleod!"

Tessa slammed her coffee cup down on the table, sloshing the still hot liquid over her thumb. "Damn!" She exclaimed, putting thumb in her mouth to cool it.

"Let me see." Duncan's tone was conciliatory.

With a sigh, Tessa offered the injured hand, allowing him to lead her into the galley to apply cold water and a dressing.

"Is all this cloak and dagger stuff really necessary?" Connor asked once they were alone. "Couldn't you have just told him who you are?"

"Oh yes, that would work," Methos wasn't agreeing. "Do you remember Richie's reaction when I first told him?"

"He believed you," Connor considered that. "Eventually."

* * *

He wasn't at all sure what he was expecting. But even so the identity of Darius' Immortal guest took him completely by surprise.

"Duncan!"

Amanda threw herself into his arms with such force that Duncan had to wrap his arms around her to keep her on her feet. Unfortunately, she seemed to take this as some kind of invitation and began kissing him fervently on the lips, on the cheeks, on the forehead and just about anywhere she could reach.

"'Manda." Duncan protested, with an embarrassed laugh, trying to extricate himself from her attentions, acutely aware that Tessa was watching every move. "I know its been a while but .."

She stopped and drew back, searching his gaze intently and her face fell.

"You're not him."

"Only now you notice this?" Tessa cut in archly ready to defend her territory.

"Um, Tessa," Duncan drew her forward, wrapping an arm around her stiff shoulders and pasting a smile on his face. "Sweetheart, this is Amanda, she's an old friend of .. um .. Connor's?"

"Indeed?" Tessa asked icily. "How old exactly?"

"A lady never tells." Amanda preened, confident of her enduring good looks.

Duncan paused. He realised that Amanda had never told him how old she was. Not exactly. Surely she couldn't be? He looked helplessly at Darius.

"You are not going to tell me that our Amanda here is the oldest living Immortal, are you?"

"What?" Amanda looked offended. "You don't think I could be?"

"Well, of course you could," Duncan backtracked. "I mean, you're beautiful, talented and intelligent, it's just that I never think of you as old, Amanda."

He sighed in relief when she dimpled prettily under the compliment, only to feel his heart sink when he saw the stony expression on Tessa's face.

"Perhaps," Darius suggested. "We should all sit down?"

* * *

Tessa had claimed the couch pulling Duncan down possessively beside her. Connor had settled into the easy chair, not looking remotely surprised when Amanda perched playfully on the arm. Darius had chosen the upright wooden chair where he had a clear view of them all whilst Adam stood a little off to the left, staring out of the porthole at the pedestrians walking up and down the quay.

"And you will know him by his company assembled," Darius read from the small leather bound book. "For the faithful wife shall nurture him, the favoured son shall watch over him and his good possession will be the key. The wolf will teach him the way of the pack, the lover will show him his path and from the spring of youth the brown warrior will raise him to his destiny in the brief light of summer and be his strength through all the seasons of his life."

"And that is Richie?" Tessa asked. "How can you be so certain?"

Duncan looked at his kinsman. Connor of course, was the wolf. His name in Gaelic _Conchobhar _meant wolf and as the Clan elder it was his duty to instruct others in their duties as a Macleod. Amanda too was easy. She always said she was a lover not a fighter and her name if he recalled correctly, came from the Latin for love.

"The favoured son?" Duncan looked at Adam. He knew, of course, that in the original Hebrew Adam meant favoured son. "But that's not your real name, is it?"

"Its not the name I was born with," Adam acknowledged. "But it's as real as any I've had."

Then there was Darius or _Dareios _in its Roman form,the good possession, in Ancient Persian. Duncan had always wondered if Darius actually _was_ the King of Persia who had invaded Greece but been defeated at the Battle of Marathon. He was certainly old enough.

"The faithful wife?" He frowned.

Marriage was not entirely unknown among Immortals, but monogamy was difficult if you both expected to live for centuries. Look at Robert and Gina.

"Hebrew." Darius supplied.

"Oh. Rebecca." Duncan realised. A shiver ran down his spine as he realised the Ancient root of all these names. Had present events really been set in motion so long ago? And then there was the one whose role it was to raise the lad to his destiny and be his strength.

The brown warrior, in Gaelic _Donnchadh_, in English Duncan, in other words him.

* * *

"Alright," Duncan set the tray of coffee down on the table. "So, we are all in some way connected to the lad. I still don't see what that has to do with his adoption."

"This account was written in the 6th Century," Darius shrugged as if this was unremarkable. "There were others before."

"And they all said the same?" Duncan asked.

"As far as I can remember," Adam spoke up. "They might have lost a nuance or two in translation."

"You wrote this?"

"Well, the first versions weren't written of course," Adam acknowledged. "But I recorded what my teacher told me. For as long as I can remember, you have always been the one Richie looked to as his father."

"But I'd never even heard of him until this week." Duncan protested.

"I had," Darius' quiet assurance captured Duncan's attention. "I started watching him when his first foster mother died in ah, unusual circumstances. I did what I could to ease his plight when he found himself in Catholic Orphanages. I wish I could have done more, but to have done so would have attracted unwanted attention."

"From Ares?"

"Indeed," Darius nodded sagely. "The boy had to be kept from his clutches, at any cost. And unfortunately, it was Richie who paid the price. He had a hard time of things growing up. A very hard time."

"Oh, le pauvre," Tessa put her hand to her mouth. "It is terrible how people used to allow children to be so badly treated."

"I'm afraid I haven't made myself clear," Darius shook his head. "Richie was born in 1974."

"That lad is never sixteen." Duncan shook his head in denial.

"The one you met isn't," Darius agreed. "But this one is."

He passed Duncan a Kodak print with a date of a few weeks previously taken in Seacouver. The photo showed a teenager with slightly long, unkempt blonde curly hair, wearing dirty, ripped jeans and holey tennis shoes, with an ugly green and blue jacket over the top. To Duncan's critical eye he was painfully thin, all arms and legs where muscle should have been, but the cocky grin was strikingly familiar.

"But that's Richie."

"Isn't that what we've been trying to tell him?" Adam asked nobody in particular.

* * *

He listened as Connor outlined the life he might have had, the move to Seacouver, the Antique Store, Tessa's blossoming career as an artist, his apparently fateful meeting with Richie and a glimpse of a future yet to be, the three of them as the family he had wished for, subtly introducing Richie into the ways of their kind, the move back to Paris.

Images of the lad flowed through his mind. The way he came alive with a sword in his hand, his grin flashing and his eyes sparkling, with the thrill and skill of the blade. That soft smile when they were alone.

God he wanted it. He really wanted it to be true.

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I mean, time travel?"

"You expected me to believe in Immortals." Tessa sniffed.

"I didn't just expect you to believe. I shot myself!" Duncan looked at Adam. "What if you told me the winner of the downhill ski-ing championships tomorrow?"

"I have no idea," At Duncan's sceptical look he defended himself. "It has been nearly a hundred years." He looked at Connor. "Do you know?"

"No, but I know a man who can help us."

Duncan wasn't at all sure why he was bothering to make a phone call to a man sitting not three feet from him but he dutifully dialled the number of the Hotel he knew Connor favoured when he was in Seattle.

"Yes, hello," he stood up and cupped the phone under his chin. "Can I speak to one of your guests, Russell Nash, please?"

"One moment please."

He fully expected the woman to come back and tell him that no such person was in residence, but after a few seconds the line clicked and a familiar voice came on.

"This is Nash."

"Connor." Duncan sank back down onto the sofa in slaw jawed surprise as he looked up into the eyes of the man sitting across the room from him. "Is that you?"

"Duncan," his teacher's voice reacted to the stress in his tone. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Duncan made an effort to swallow his feelings as he hunted for a suitable explanation for his shock. "I just haven't heard from you in a long time."

"I sent you a card at Christmas." He heard rustling as his teacher shifted in the bed.

"Connor," Duncan rolled his eyes. "That was in 1972."

"I'm well, Duncan. You would have had word otherwise." Connor's tone was mild rebuke.

"Tell him not to buy the Italian Rapier," his mentor scowled across the room. "The damn thing never went up in value. Tell him to go for the Spanish dagger instead. There's going to be a real market for those in a decade or so."

Duncan scowled.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk to yourself?"

* * *

The streets of Paris were still crowded with the evening's revellers. Light and colour spilled out of café's onto the pavements, the warmth of conversation and laughter echoing off the cobblestones in the Latin Quarter. Duncan checked for a third time that the bottle of cognac Segur had left him was tucked safely inside his coat. He had always said he wanted to drink it with a friend. Adam had assured him that Richie would understand the gesture.

As he moved further on the streets got quieter, the lights of scattered apartments over shops and offices dark and closed. Instinctively, Duncan looked around for danger. The last thing he needed right now was to be delayed by some damn fool mugger. Darius' information had said Richie was at a bar not far from here. But who knew how long he would stay put?

The pain hit without warning. Striking in his back and exploding in his chest and driving him to his hands and knees in one, sharp, agonising moment. Dimly he was aware of Segur's bottle being catapulted out of his coat to shatter on the cobblestones, its precious contents leaking onto the street.

He'd been shot.

Pressing his hand up against the gaping wound he saw the rich dark blood gushing forth over his fingers at a rate that spelt real trouble. He could easily pass out from the blood loss before he healed from this.

Then he felt the buzz.

Without thinking he went for his sword, but even to attempt the movement sent waves of agony washing over him. By sheer effort of will he clung to consciousness peering up to see a dark figure looming over him.

"Well now, we meet again Macleod," Ares lifted his chin with the point of his sword. "You're looking a bit peaky, I must say."

Duncan tried to speak, but the words got lost in a frothy gargle of breath and blood.

"Hurts, does it?" Ares lifted a foot and placed it squarely on his back, pressing him down on to the stones, causing Duncan to squeeze his eyes shut in a wave of blinding pain. "You know, in the last hundred years we've invented ways to inflict pain, you can't even begin to imagine. I'm looking forward to introducing you to each and every one. By the time I'm done with you, you won't even remember your own name."

"Step away from him." Richie's voice called, just befere the buzz hit.

"You're in no position to give me orders." Ares scoffed.

"Yes, I am. Because I have something you want more badly than him," Duncan heard the rustle of a coat and then the sound of Richie's sword slithering across the cobblestones, coming closer, presumably towards Ares. "Me."

"You'd give yourself up for his sake? He doesn't even know you! Much less want you."

_No_. Duncan silently protested in the agony of his own mind. He didn't want it to be like this. He couldn't even open his eyes to telegraph to the lad his contrition. He hadn't meant to reject him. He hadn't known. Hadn't understood.

"That doesn't matter," Richie spoke with conviction. "Because I know him. Duncan Macleod is a good man and I won't let you hurt him."

"As you wish. I'll simply kill him instead." The last thing Duncan heard was Ares picking Richie's sword up off the cobblestones and then everything went black.

* * *

Even after four hundred years, Duncan had never got used to coming back from the dead. That first rasping breath of stale air through empty lungs hurt like blazes and only gradually did the pain ease and anything like normalcy return.

"About bloody time." A hand pressed a bottle up against his lips. "Here, drink this."

Duncan took a deep draught, spluttering his surprise.

"That's wine."

"Worked for the Romans." Adam sank back on his haunches and surveyed him critically. "You've looked better. What happened?"

"Richie!" Duncan gasped, looking around in sudden realisation.

"He's not here. And judging by the fact that you had his sword sticking out of your chest, I'm guessing he's in trouble."

"Ares," Duncan could hardly bear to admit it. "He gave himself up to Ares to save me."

Adam looked away and sighed. "I was afraid of that."

"But he won't kill him? I mean, he can't, can he? Not without voiding the prophecy?"

"No, he can't kill him, but he can make him wish for death."

Duncan looked at the pinched, hollow, expression on Adam's face. He knows, he thought. He knows what it is like to be tortured by Ares. And clearly it is very, very bad. Duncan clenched his jaw tight, feeling a sudden wash of helpless anger as he thought of Ares vicious torture being inflicted on his lad. They had to find him. Soon.

"They could be anyway," He thought aloud. "We don't even know that Ares will keep him in Paris.

"Then we start looking in Paris," Adam offered him a hand up. "And we keep looking until we find him."


	9. Ressurection

AN- There is some description of Richie torture in this chapter. I know many of you enjoy that kind of thing, but please skip over the third section if you think this may disturb you. There will be reference to his injuries elsewhere but not graphic.

* * *

It had been almost a week with no trace of the lad. Between them they had conducted a systematic search throughout the city. They only had a few places left to look. No one would actually say it, but as they all sat morosely around the fire in the barge's salon Duncan knew they were on the brink of admitting Richie was no longer in Paris. 

Which meant he could be absolutely anywhere.

"Perhaps it will not be so bad. If he cannot kill Richie, surely hurting him will achieve nothing?" Tessa spoke up.

"Some would say that inflicting pain is an end in itself." Adam said quietly.

"But that's horrible." Tessa recoiled.

"All he really needs to do is hold him hostage," Connor's words were intended to reassure the Frenchwoman but Duncan doubted that his mentor believed them. There were always those who took a sadistic pleasure in inflicting pain for its own sake. "Perhaps we can even use the delay to our advantage. Lord knows Risteard isn't ready to face Ares yet."

The very thought of the blonde youngster squaring up against Ares made Duncan's gut twist, still he felt honour bound to defend the lad.

"He seemed confident enough."

Connor dashed his hopes with a sharp shake of his head.

"He's scared out of his wits. He can't bear the waiting so he just wants it to be over, even if that means getting the dying over with too. He was exactly the same when it came to taking his first head, rushing headlong into danger simply to be done with it." Connor frowned at some memory. "He was lucky then. Both times. He may not be so fortunate with Ares."

Duncan didn't quite understand how Richie could have had two chances at taking his first head. But still.

"What happens if he loses?"

No one it seemed had an answer to that.

* * *

Duncan stood and watched, his hands in his pockets as Adam lifted off a manhole cover and shifted it to one side, before dropping down until he was sitting on the edge. 

"Not many people remember that these are here any more." He observed.

"You do," Adam peered into the darkness, before producing a small flashlight from his pocket and switched it on. "So, do I, maybe Ares does as well. Its worth a try."

Amazingly the people around them just went about their business, taking not the slightest notice of the two men as one after the other they disappeared into the earth.

It took his eyes a moment or two to adjust to the dim light, following the bobbing light of the flashlight as it glinted off the smooth polished surface of the bones and skulls that made up the walls of the catacombs. In spite of himself he shivered slightly at the grim spectacle. At least he knew that Ares couldn't kill the lad.

But there were worse fates than death.

Suddenly Adam held up his hand, signalling a halt. Duncan peered over his shoulder to see what he had seen. Up ahead in the darkness was a flicker of light, casting its long shadow against the wall. As he strained to listen the soft murmur of a mocking voice was followed by a blood-curdling scream. And then silence.

"I'm going to kill him." Duncan growled softly.

"No. You take care of Richie," Adam shook his head decisively. "I'll deal with Ares."

"Are you sure you can take him?" He eyed the slightly built Immortal doubtfully.

"Absolutely bloody positive," Adam retorted. "I'm going to cheat."

For once in his life Duncan had no argument with that as he followed silently down the passageway. Just as they reached the point where the buzz hit Adam pulled out his sword.

"It's going to be bad."

Duncan swallowed hard and gathered his courage.

"I'm ready."

But he wasn't. Not in the slightest.

* * *

Illuminated by the soft light of a circle of torches Richie's body hung suspended by a single thick rope attacked to a hook embedded in the ceiling. Duncan's eyes travelled up from the slender feet, crisscrossed with slash marks over the emaciated body mutilated not with the random pattern of a frenzied attacked but the dangerous artistry of a truly evil mind. He felt his throat tighten as he saw the damaged limbs twisted into impossible configurations and the soft blonde curls matted with blood, which was all he could make out of the lad's features as his head lolled to one side in unconscious agony. 

No. Not ready at all.

"Two of you?" Ares greeted them with a mocking smile. "Should I be flattered?"

"Macleod, take Richie to Darius and wait for me there," Adam instructed without looking at him. "We're going to be a little busy here."

Warily, Duncan looked over at Ares to see if he was planning on interfering but the ancient Immortal gave him a mocking little bow. "I didn't expect you to find me so quickly and yet still you are too late."

"We've had the care of the boy for a century," Adam's tone was scathing. "Even you can't undo that in a week."

"You don't think so?"

The knowledge and cruelty that underpinned the barb was designed to mock him for his own weakness. Instead Adam's gaze hardened at the reminder of his own torment at Ares hands. Lifting his sword almost casually he advanced with smooth purpose.

"You had me far longer and you still failed."

Ares chuckled.

"You're not going to fight me. Not over this. You've wasted the best part of the last five thousand years running away and now all you will have to remember your life by is the view as you looked back over your shoulder."

"Tell that to Olympic Athletics," Adam's eyes had a dangerous glint. "Sometimes running away gets you exactly where you want to be."

"You can't win. And you can't kill me, remember?"

"I may not be able to kill you, but I can make you wish I had," Adam glanced up at the ceiling, where above them stood the towering mass of the ancient Cathedral. "And since this is Holy Ground. You can't take my head either. So, I can't possibly lose."

"You've tried before." Ares purred, lifting his own sword.

"Oh, I really wasn't trying before."

* * *

As the two of them began to circle each other Duncan hastened to help Richie. Rapidly assessing the situation he carefully wrapped one arm around the battered body to support its weight as he slashed though the rope suspending him from the ceiling. As he took the weight Richie's body, made slick by the numerous sluggishly bleeding cuts, started to slip through his grasp. With a muttered curse, Duncan tightened his grip before the dead weight hit the floor, only to cause the lad to jerk into agonised consciousness as he pressed on open wounds. 

In a primeval reflex Richie's clawed hand came up so fast and so determined to inflict pain on his attacker that Duncan almost lost an eye, not to mention his grip on the struggling form as he went down on one knee, bracing him against his chest.

"Easy, Rich, it's just me, Mac."

Richie stilled and took a great shuddering breath, like a wounded animal scenting the air.

"'_ac_."

The faltering word came out as the merest whisper of trust from between parched lips as Richie instantly relaxed in his grip, letting his head loll against his shoulder with the simple trust of a child. His throat tightening Duncan gently cupped his hand under his chin, helping Richie to raise his head so he could look him in the eyes.

Except, he didn't have any.

Two blackened holes stared sightlessly at him where the lad's eyes should be. Clamping ruthlessly down on the bile that threatened to overwhelm him, Duncan forced his voice to sound calm and soothing.

"You ready to go home, Tough Guy?"

Easing the battered body to the floor Duncan ignored the rhythm of sword blows and insults that echoed around the cavern to focus all his energies on the lad. He shrugged out of his long cashmere coat and wrapped it gently around his shoulders, knowing all the time he was hurting him.

With an effort Richie raised his hand and waved it in the direction of Duncan's wrist, attempting to still his movements.

"Kill me." He rasped.

"Rich," Duncan closed his eyes. But he knew the younger Immortal was right. Moving him in this state would be nigh on impossible. Plus Duncan didn't think he could bring himself to put him in the trunk and risk that he might revive before he was safe and well in a clean bed. Grimly he reached out the Katana and turned it over.

"No, 'ac,"

Richie's voice faltered as his telegraphed his distress at his teacher blooding his beloved Katana for such a purpose. Wide eyes strained to indicate the readily available daggers of all shapes and sizes on a nearby table. Duncan shook his head. He'd be dammed if he'd let another of Ares butchering tools touch his lad. He reached out and stroked a thumb along Richie's jaw.

"No, laddie. If it must be done, t'will be done with honour."

As he slid the sword gently between the lad's ribs, somewhere in the mists of time he thought Hideo Koto would approve.

* * *

Darius had received his precious cargo with his usual infinite kindness and brisk efficiently. As they laid the battered body in Darius' own bed it was clear that Ares had done what he could to maximise the lad's suffering. Some wounds had been laced with salt others rubbed with noxious powers to slow their healing, broken bones had been intentionally mis-set so they healed in crooked, useless, agony. 

He was afraid to ask about his eyes.

Duncan gently prised off the expensive cashmere coat, before helping Darius bath the battered body in warm water steeped with healing herbs to wash out the poisons and then they systematically broke the damaged bones so they could be properly re-set. Only then did Duncan removed the Katana and step back as Darius wound a strip of soft linen around the damaged eyes and before covering him lightly with a sheet.

"Wouldn't those wounds be better left open to the air?"

"Medically perhaps," Darius agreed, giving him a compassionate look. "But right now Richie is not my only patient."

"You'll no hinder his recovery on my account." Duncan protested.

"What about Connor? And Adam? Or Amanda? Your Tessa?" Darius shook his head. "When he wakes he'll need the support of his family. It'll be easier for you all to be strong for him if you don't have to look at Ares's handiwork."

Duncan sighed.

"Do you wish me to call them?" Darius offered.

"No, I'll do it."

Connor answered and arrived shortly afterwards bearing Richie's sword and a pair of black silk boxers.

Duncan saw his distress in the chalk white of his face and the whiteness of his knuckles, but his tone was steady when he reached over and firmly tucked the sword in beside the blonde.

"He'll feel better if he wakes with his sword to hand."

Only then did his façade break as he turned away and put his fist through a piece of fourteenth century panelling. Wincing at the spray of splinters and the distinctive crack of broken bones Duncan knew exactly how he felt. Looking at his heaving back Duncan gave him time to regain his composure before he asked.

"And the boxers?"

A short bark of laughter was his reward. Connor turned and approached the bed, still looking shaken but more in control as his fingers brushed over the freshly washed curls. "Amanda's idea. She didn't want the lad to feel self conscious."

There was something more to it than that Duncan thought. Men of their times neither he nor Darius had given a second thought to the fact that Richie was naked under the sheets. But then neither of them knew the lad all that well.

Connor looked around.

"Where's Adam?"

* * *

It was another hour before a buzz roused Duncan from his thoughts as he sat in silent vigil, holding the dead lad's hand more for his own comfort than anything else. Darius had gone to say mass and Connor had been despatched back to the barge to keep watch over Tessa. Not that Duncan's didn't trust Amanda to keep the mortal woman safe, but the idea of the two of them spending too much time alone together did nothing for his blood pressure. 

So, it was with a mixture of hope and dread that he looked towards the doorway.

"How is he?" The dark haired Immortal strode into the room, shedding his coat and scarf and casting them to the floor, as he rolled up his sleeves.

"He's still dead. I think the moved taxed him."

Duncan watched as the other pulled back the sheet. A frown settled over the classical features as he surveyed the damage up close for the first time.

"You should see the other guy," He spoke with grim satisfaction.

Duncan couldn't help but feel good about that.

"It took you long enough," Duncan kept his tone casual as he took in the one obvious sword cut where the rent edges of the baggy sweater flapped across the now healed chest. "I was starting to worry about you, " he paused. "Methos."

He wasn't even sure if he head heard right. And even if Ares had suggested that Adam was five thousand years old that didn't mean to say he was right. He was quite prepared for the other to laugh in his face.

Instead, he merely glanced up for a moment before going back to examining Richie. "I was going to tell you."

"Oh?" Duncan wasn't at all sure he believed that. "When exactly?"

"6th March 1995," Methos replied, peering at one of the bottles Darius had left on the bedside table. "Of course, I needed you to kill Kalas for me at the time."

"You wanted _me_ to fight _your_ challenge?" Duncan's jaw dropped.

"Actually, you volunteered, or will volunteer, or whatever. The gods only know what will actually happen now." Methos sighed, as he put the bottle down.

"After all this time, have I and my God had so little influence on you?" Darius didn't wait for an answer as he surveyed the oldest living Immortal from the doorway with a critical eye. "I don't suppose it would do me any good to suggest that you rest?"

"I can rest here."

"At least take a shower and a bite to eat," Darius counselled. "Richard will wake soon enough and we'll all need our strength."

* * *

After he had left Duncan watched for a moment as Darius tended to Richie's needs, reluctantly releasing the lifeless hand that had become his lifeline for a brief instant as the Priest went about checking the healing bones were straight and true and moistening his dry mouth to lesson the trauma of a return to life, before he asked the question burning uppermost in his mind. 

"How long?"

"I'm not sure my friend, in normal circumstances an Immortal of this age and experience would have healed much faster than this, but I fear what we can see is only the tip of the iceberg. Ares is a master in his field and he has had more than enough time to deplete young Richard's reserves."

"Oh," Duncan scrubbed a weary hand across his face. That wasn't welcome news. "No, I meant, how long have you known, Methos?"

"So, he told you?" Darius didn't show as much as a flicker of surprise. "All my life my friend, all my life. I suppose you could say he was my first teacher."

"_Methos _was your first teacher? And you couldn't have mentioned this before?"

"I would have. But in order to find the knowledge that the good Lord feels we truly require, first we have to know which questions to pose." Darius gave him an enigmatic smile.

"In other words," Methos returned, his hair still damp from what had to have been one of the quickest showers in history, a half eaten chicken leg in one hand and a half drunk bottle of beer in the other. "You never asked."

"Do you have anymore surprises up your sleeve?" Duncan asked, slightly sourly.

"Well, now that you mention it .." Adam pulled up his sleeve to reveal a blue tattoo, shaped rather like a bird.

"You're an ornithologist?" Duncan scoffed, even as the design triggered some long lost memory in his brain.

"No, I'm a Watcher. It .." Methos blinked suddenly and turned towards the bed.

A second later, Duncan felt it too, that brief surge of awareness that signalled the resurging presence of a returning Immortal.

* * *

A sharp, painful gasp echoed around the small chamber as Richie sucked fresh air into stale lungs. Methos rested a hand on his shoulder, gently holding him in place to prevent any further damage from the sudden urge to sit up that seemed common to all returning Immortals. 

"Its alright, Munchkin, you're alright." He soothed.

"Daddy?" Richie's voice came out sounding so lost and helpless that Duncan felt the tears burning behind his eyes.

"Shh," Methos kissed the top of his curls. "Its alright. You're safe now. Take a deep breath. And another."

They watched in silence as Richie rasped air through still injured lungs.

"You still with us?" Methos asked.

"Think so," Richie's voice came out a little stronger. More like himself. "Mac? What happened to Mac?"

Belatedly, Duncan remembered that the last time Richie had seen him clearly he had been lying face down in the gutter, bleeding to death.

"I'm right here, Tough Guy," He squeezed the hand he was still holding. "I'm just fine. How are you doing?"

"Hurts," Richie managed. "And I can't see. Oh God, Mac," Richie gripped his hand tightly as his voice rose in distress. "I can't see anything!"

"Just give it time," Duncan soothed. "It'll heal."

"How long?"

"I'm not sure." Duncan felt like a coward. But he couldn't face telling the lad it might take a few days to heal all the damage.

"Like hours?" Richie asked, a thread of anxiety in his voice. "A few hours, right?"

Duncan hesitated. He didn't want to lie. But telling the truth wasn't going to do much good either.

"Mac? _Please_?"

Duncan sucked in his cheeks at the note of entreaty in his voice. He sounded like a child who had woken from a nightmare about monsters under his bed and needed his Da to tell him that they weren't real. Except that in Richie's case Ares had been all too real and he'd known enough to prey on his deepest fears.

Oh Lord no.

The lad was afraid of the dark.


	10. Release

AN – Thanks to everyone for the reviews and feedback. If it wasn't for all of you taking an interest there would be no point in writing stories, so thank you. Hope you enjoy the next instalment.

* * *

Duncan sat holding Richie's hand and wished he knew what on earth to say to make things better. Except, he didn't. Nothing in his life had prepared him for such a moment. The lad was lying there, looking to him for support and guidance and he had no idea what to say. His one brief attempt at being a father to Kahani had been an idyllic summer of hunting and fishing. He'd never had to face such a crisis. He tried desperately to think what his own father might have said, but nothing appropriate came to mind.

"Richie .." He faltered. Lost.

"Hey," Methos voice cut in. "Bought you a present."

"Should I be afraid?" Richie rasped with a smile in his voice.

"Hold on," Methos ducked down and rummaged in his discarded coat. "Its here somewhere."

He emerged, holding a colourful paper bag, from which he pulled a small white, stuffed horse that he placed on Richie's chest, raising his hand for him so his battered fingers could stroke the soft fur.

"Snowy," Richie sighed happily, his fingers closing weakly around the little horse. "Thought I'd lost him."

"You remember what I told you about him?"

"You mean the bit about him being magic so he wouldn't drown when Mom put him in the washing machine?" Richie murmured.

Beside him Duncan heard Darius chuckle. Methos gave him a quelling look, before turning his attention back to Richie.

"Can you remember the _other_ thing?"

"He means you love me."

The look of surprise that flashed across Methos face was Duncan's only clue that hadn't been exactly the answer Methos had been fishing for. However, he noted that the ancient Immortal didn't dispute the sentiment as he pulled out his flashlight and eased aside the linen bandages to peer into Richie's sightless eyes.

"You're never alone as long as you have people who love you. Maybe they can't be with you right now, but they're still out there loving you and doing their best to take care of you, even if .."

"Even if I can't see them," Richie finished for him. He clutched the little white horse a little tighter, taking comfort from its presence. "I guess if he can get me through the first day of kindergarten, he can do this, huh?"

"Good," Methos spoke with quiet satisfaction as he clicked his flashlight off "Now, how about a cheeseburger?"

"Not mouldy tea?"

"Don't you think you've been tortured enough for one week?"

* * *

"Are you insane?" Duncan hissed as soon as he could corner Methos out of earshot of the lad. "You'll not cure what ails him with stuffed animals and greasy burgers."

"But it's a start."

"Oh please. You can see he's in pain, not to mention scared witless besides. Do you want him to suffer?"

"I want him to heal."

"Then give him a bloody great draught of morphine and let him sleep until his body's done its work."

"And in two days time he wakes up as fresh as a daisy and we'll pretend that all this never happened?" Methos shot back, his eyes dark with scorn.

"Of course not. He'll need professional help." Duncan knew enough to know that horrific as they were the physical injuries were only the tip of the iceberg. The metal scars of being held prisoner, captive to another's thoughts and whims, would run deep.

"Your friend Burns, I suppose?"

"Why not? He's well qualified and its not as if the lad would have to hide his Immortality."

"He's also a total stranger, that's why not. Richie's never even met him. If you've learnt anything about him since we've been here surely you must realise he's not going to open up to just anyone."

Duncan opened his mouth to dispute that. The lad had been candid enough with him. Almost from the moment they met. Then closed it. Of course, Richie wouldn't see him as a stranger. He saw him as his father.

Except.

"He called you Daddy." He accused.

"I was married to his Mother for a time," Methos didn't meet his eyes. "He was very young. He barely remembers it."

Duncan crossed his arms. "He remembered the horse."

"Look Macleod, I don't want to fight with you over this. Not again. But you have no idea what we are dealing with here. I know Richie and I know Ares. And Richie doesn't always know what's best for him," Methos spoke tonelessly. "Once he's well enough he'll act like nothing really happened, we need to reach him now whilst he's still vulnerable enough to accept our help. That would be a little difficult to do if he was unconscious, don't you think?"

* * *

Duncan watched as Richie slept restlessly, expressions of pain and fear reflected on his battered features. Feeling like the worst kind of fraud he squeezed the lad's hand gently.

"Hey, hey, shh, its alright. You're safe."

Instantly, the blonde quietened, reassured by his continued presence. Duncan sighed. Amanda had come and soothed Richie's aches with oils, perfume and massage. Not to be outdone Tessa had produced a basket of tempting treats to help the invalid regain his strength, which he had apparently allowed her to spoon-feed to him, although not in front of witnesses. Connor had spelled her, producing a stack of superman comics that he read in soothing tones. At Duncan's raised eyebrow he had simply shrugged._ He likes them. _Even Darius had managed to find common ground over a chessboard, patiently spelling out the moves so Richie could visualise the board.

All he had done was sit here.

"Will you stop that?"

Duncan looked down and saw that Richie was not exactly looking up at him but at any rate conscious and awake.

"I wasn't aware I was doing anything."

"Yeah, you are," Richie made a move to sit up and Duncan reached out to support him as he settled himself with a grimace against the pillows. "You're doing that brooding thing again."

"How do you know what I'm doing?" Duncan asked, smiling in spite of himself. "You can't even see me."

The crassness of what he had just said hit him like a dousing with iced water. He sat slacked jawed in numb shock, wondering how on earth he could have been so thoughtless.

"Who needs to?" Richie titled his head in a manner that Duncan recognised as registering amusement. "Right now you're sitting there looking like someone slapped you with a wet fish. Just chill, Mac. I came a real long way to find you. You don't need to do anything special. Just .. be yourself."

The catch in the blonde's voice almost undid Duncan. Richie had borne the considerable discomfort from his injuries stoically with little more than a murmur. The show of vulnerability spoke volumes.

"I just want to help."

"Well, there is something you could do," Richie glanced up hopefully. "And before you say no, just hear me out. Please?"

* * *

"This is madness," Duncan hissed. He had no idea how he had let himself be talked into such foolishness. "You should be resting."

"C'mon Mac," Richie tried hard to disguise the wince of pain that passed across his features and almost succeeded. Almost. "I've been hanging around for the last week. I need to get out some."

"Richie." Duncan rolled his eyes at the dreadful pun. "How you ever lived to be a hundred .."

"See," A ghost of a smile settled across Richie's features as Duncan settled him more comfortably into the front seat of the Citroen. "You know me better already. You say stuff like that all the time."

"If this is your idea of a good plan I can well believe it," Duncan closed the passenger door and walked around to get in on the driver's side. He looked across at the chalk white features. "You alright?" he asked gently.

"I will be." Richie nodded.

"Alright," Duncan put the car into gear and let the Citroen roll gently forward so as not to further damage his precious cargo. "Its not far."

"I know."

"And you're to go straight to bed when we get there."

"Or I could just hang out on the couch for a bit," Richie suggested innocently. "You'd be able to keep a better eye on me that way."

Duncan laughed aloud. This lad was a real piece of work and he knew exactly which buttons to press.

"Aright," he conceded. "You want to order in something for dinner? There's an excellent Italian restaurant that delivers. Or we could get Chinese?"

"Um." Richie hesitated.

"What?" Duncan glanced over at him. "I think there's some leftover pasta sauce in the freezer." He joked.

"Yeah? That would be really great."

"Really?" Duncan swallowed his surprise as a suspicion formed in his mind." We could get a video and some popcorn too, if you like." He offered.

Riche smiled shyly. "Just like old times."

Duncan gently applied the brake and put the car into neutral as he coasted to a stop in front of the barge. He carefully applied the handbrake and took the key out of the ignition before he replied

"Welcome home, Rich."

* * *

"Are you sure this is alright?" Tessa worried as she dug around in the linen closet for extra blankets and pillows. "He looks so pale. Perhaps the journey was not good for him?"

"He's Immortal, Tess. It can hardly kill him and who knows, being here might just help."

"And the others agreed?"

"Darius helped me carry him to the car and Connor and Amanda have gone back to the Hotel to make room."

"And Methos?" Tessa gave him a knowing look.

Duncan paused. The ancient Immortal hadn't actually been there, having left on something he called Watcher business and that Connor termed when asked to translate, damage control. To be frank Duncan was getting tired of being kept out of the loop. Richie had come all this way for him. Richie had given himself up to Ares for him. If there was something in his power that he could do for him he wasn't about to deny him.

"We're all on the same side here, Tess."

Or at least he hoped so.

For his part Richie was remarkably patient as they made him comfortable with a mound of pillows and blankets on the couch. Duncan even had a sneaking suspicion that he was enjoying all the fuss. Then again, what wouldn't he give to go back in time and be fussed over by his parents? Lord knows there were times when he had sorely missed it. Despite how he had protested at the time.

"Are you comfortable?" Tessa stepped back surveying the results with a critical eye. "It is not too much?"

Richie smiled. "If you think this is bad, you should have seen yourselves when I broke my ankle ski-ing. You went out and bought a new footstool!"

"This is not fair," Tessa protested, laughing. "You know us so well, but we hardly know you at all."

"So, ask me," Richie offered. "Whatever you like."

"You should be resting," Duncan chided. "I promise Darius you would. It was the only way he would agree to my kidnapping you."

"Hey, I volunteered. Besides, I'm just lying here. See, me lying here? That's resting. And they say laughter is the best medicine, right?"

Duncan gave him an impassive look. The lad knew he too well. He wondered if he had always been able to wrap him around his little finger. "Maybe I should get Methos over here to keep you in line? Or Connor?" he threatened as sternly as he could.

Which wasn't very to be true.

"You'd have better luck with Amanda," Richie grinned. "She can be very persuasive."

"Amanda?" Duncan blinked. "You don't mean? You and her?"

"See? You know you wanna ask."

"Richie." Duncan lowered his voice dangerously.

"Ten questions each," Richie bargained. "Then I'll take a nap. Honest."

"Five." Duncan countered.

"Nine."

"Wanna make it four?"

* * *

"Alright then," Duncan paused in the act of lifting a forkful of pasta to his mouth. Now that the moment was at hand he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. Not everything anyway. "How did we meet?"

"You were running an Antique Store in Seacouver. I tried to rob you and ended up in Immortal central. Afterwards you gave me a home and a job."

"How old were you?"

"I was sixteen, course, I told you I was seventeen but you called me on it soon enough."

"What about your parents?" Tessa put in. "Weren't they worried about you?"

"I mostly grew up in foster homes," Riche shrugged. "You guys were my first real family in the longest time."

"Alright," Tessa decided to lighten the mood. "What is your favourite food?"

"Chocolate cake." Richie answered promptly. "We used to have it for breakfast all the time."

"All the time?" Duncan challenged.

"Well, special occasions. But we had a whole lot of 'em."

"What is your best memory of living with us?" Tessa asked.

"Oh man," The pause was gratifying, indicating that the lad had a wealth of good memories to choose from. "My eighteenth birthday. We were living in Paris at the time so you guys arranged to take me to Venice. It was so awesome. I never expected. Then we had dinner at this little café and you gave me this portrait of me in St Mark's square. God, I looked so happy. Then Mac gave me this watch." He paused.

"This watch was special to you, non?" Tessa asked.

"It was one of the things I'd tried to rob that first night, it was worth a whole lot, I never thought I'd ever own anything so beautiful. Mac said .. he told me I'd earned it."

* * *

Try as he might, Richie struggled to keep his eyes open. The comforting bustle of Mac and Tessa clearing away the dinner dishes was so normal and familiar that he was lulled to sleep by the sound of her lilting tones and his reassuring baritone. Even so, he came awake with a start, still not quite trusting that his memories weren't just some product of his fevered imagination.

"You're alright." Duncan's voice soothed from close at hand.

"Well that's just fine," Richie turned his head. "Except, it still hurts."

"If you were mortal you'd be dead, several times over. Just give it time. You'll be fine."

"I guess," Richie flexed, gingerly testing out sore limbs and muscles. He was healing. Just not fast enough in his opinion. He lay quietly cataloguing the sounds and smells around him. "Tessa making coffee?"

"It'll be ready in a minute," Duncan agreed. "You're managing pretty well."

"I had a good teacher," Richie smiled at some memory. "Who knew you could see so much with your eyes closed, huh?"

Duncan nodded, recalling his own early lessons. How he'd scoffed when Connor had tied a blindfold over his eyes and told him to fight him, countering that his teacher may as well have done with it and tie one hand behind his back as well. Connor's answer had been a painful slice across his abdomen. So, he'd learnt. That scent could tell you where a man was, sound could tell you when he moved and vibration could tell you how far and how fast. It wasn't exactly like seeing in the dark. But it wasn't helplessness either. He supposed he had been the one to teach Richie the same lessons. He hoped he had been kinder than Connor.

"You were very young when you died."

"Wasn't your fault," The negative came swiftly. "It wasn't anyone's fault. Not even the guy who did it. It just happened."

"We stayed in Seacouver?"

"And Paris off and on. Until I was in my twenties, then we moved out to Montana to raise horses, 'course you had to teach the city boy to ride first."

"Montana? I must have done some pretty fast talking to get Tessa to agree to that. I mean, she grew up with horses, but she's used to Europe. Things are far more compact here."

"Oh yeah," Richie winced at some healing twinge, Duncan supposed. "This is a whole other country."

* * *

This time Richie closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He didn't think that Duncan was fooled, but the soft murmur of conversation and retreating footsteps told him that the Scot had taken the hint and given him some privacy anyway. Only Tessa's perfume hung in the air as she pretended to be occupied in the galley in case he should need anything.

He wanted to cry. But Ares had robbed him of even that. His eyes itched and burned and his throat tightened, but the tears couldn't come. He had gained so much in his life, but at such great cost. He really hoped it would all be worth it.

"Duncan and I will be going to bed soon. I made some hot chocolate," Tessa's voice offered gently. "Would you like some?"

"Does it come with whipped cream and marshmallows?"

"Of course. Is there any other way?"

He let her help him sit up and guide his hands around the thick pottery mug, much better for his battered hands than a china cup, smiling as he sipped the sweet concoction and remembering how many times she had soothed his teenage nightmares exactly like this.

"I suppose we have done this before." Tessa offered.

"A few times." Richie agreed.

"I cannot imagine the life you describe," Tessa sounded pensive. "To leave Paris and all my friends and family to start a new life, so far away. It seems so strange. Did I like Seacouver?"

"Yeah. You missed your family sometimes, but you made lots of new friends and you got pretty busy with commissions and stuff."

"They liked my Art?" Tessa sounded pleased. "The American market is very discerning. It is really difficult to break into."

"Tess, they loved your stuff. Right after I moved in, they asked you to make this really prestigious sculpture for the city. You had me and Mac turning it this way and that to get it sited exactly right and I'm telling you that thing was solid. After that you were famous."

"They say no artist truly finds fame until they are dead. But then I suppose in your time I am already dead, non?"

"Tessa." Richie hesitated.

"Just tell me this," Tessa insisted. "I have always worried that when I am old and grey Duncan would stay with me out of duty. I need to know. Was I able to make him happy? Right until the end."

"Always," Richie replied truthfully. "He never loved anyone like he loved you."

* * *

Duncan loaded the last few dishes into the dishwasher and set it to run, wiped down the draining board and eying the full bin, decided to take the trash out before he retired. Deftly tying the top off the trash bag, he shrugged into his coat and wary of the present danger, checked his sword was in place, before slipping out the door by the wheelhouse and striding across the quay towards the large municipal bins.

He was just closing the lid after depositing the trash when he felt the buzz.

"Who's there?" he called, looking around.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking, Macleod? Taking him off Holy Ground like that?"

Duncan turned to see Methos standing right behind him, his eyes dark and flashing.

"I'm just as Immortal as you are, remember? I can protect him."

"Ah, of course," Methos nodded dangerously. "Just like you did the other night?"

The barb hit home. Richie had rescued him first. The lad would never have been so vulnerable if it wasn't for him. But still.

"Look, I was just trying to do what was best for him. He wanted to come home."

"And who are you to know what is best for him?" Methos scoffed. "You've only known him five minutes."

"I told you. _He _asked for this."

"And I told you, Richie doesn't always know what is best for him," Methos stepped up, pulling the Ivanhoe and pressing it against Duncan's chest hard enough to rip the fabric of his shirt. "I on the other hand have spent five thousand years and sacrificed more than you can even imagine to bring that child safely to this point. I will not allow you to jeopardise that, just so you can play at happy families."

"Look, just because you couldn't make it work .."

Duncan's words suddenly halted as he felt the sword pressed up against his throat.

"This is not about me," Methos hissed. "This isn't even about you. This is about Richie."

Duncan felt his mouth go suddenly dry. The man standing in front of him was at least five thousand years old. You didn't get to live that long without being skilled with a sword. To the best of Duncan's knowledge the eldest Immortal he had ever bested had been less than a quarter of Methos' age.

"Not here," Methos decided. "Over there. Under the bridge."

Oh Lord. He intended to challenge him. AndDuncan wasn't at all sure that he could win.


	11. Revisiting

AN – Sorry the delay, life is madly busy right now and compounded by the fact that I've been away from home and my computer! Many thanks as ever to my reviewers, your comments both encourage and inspire me. Notes at the end so as not to distract those who want to get on with the story.

* * *

Numbly Duncan followed Methos to the relative seclusion afforded by the bridge overhang further down the quay, mentally checking his sword, his state of preparedness and the surrounding conditions as he went. The cobbles were slick from an earlier rainfall, making the footing uncertain. The ambient light was not strong, leaving large areas in shadow.

And his opponent was over five thousand years old.

He was going to survive this.

"Just tell me this," he asked, as he pulled out the Katana and stood ready. "If you kill me now, what happens to that other Richie? The one that was in Seacouver?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Macleod," Methos barely spared him a glance. "I've no intention of fighting you."

"What? Then what the hell was that all about?"

"Does the term self preservation mean anything to you?" Methos challenged as he stowed his sword.

"So, you scare me out of my wits so I'll think twice before taking on Ares? Is that it?"

"No," Methos reflected. "Although if I'd thought of it, its a bloody good idea. You go up against Ares and we all lose. Live, Highlander, grow stronger, fight another day. Leave your misguided sense of honour in your other pants."

"Thanks for the tip." Duncan said dryly.

"Do you mind putting that away?" Methos nodded at the Katana. "Drawn swords make me nervous."

"You didn't seem to have any problem drawing yours on me." Duncan retorted, as he pointedly sheathed the Katana under his bicep, no immediate threat but not out of reach either.

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it long before now," Methos dug around in his pocket with a frown on his face. He tried fishing in his other pocket. "You have all these noble ideas, which are bad enough in themselves, but then you expect me to risk my neck and go along with them."

"And I was just supposed to know that all that wasn't for real?"

"Why not?" Methos was sarcastic. "You've known me for three whole weeks now. Next thing you know we'll be picking out china."

"Meaning, I've got no idea of what I'm getting into with Richie?" Duncan hazarded.

"Hallelujah." Methos' frown deepened as patted his jeans pockets. "I was sure it was in here somewhere."

"So, if you're not going to fight me is there a good reason we're hiding under a bridge?"

"Because there's something you need to see and I don't see any point in scaring the natives," Methos tried the first pocket again. "This thing won't even be invented for another fifty years. Ah, here it is." He produced a small silver sphere about 5 cm in diameter, and holding it up, placed his thumb on a dimpled spot on the side. At once a kaleidoscope of coloured lights swirled and coalesced into a residential street.

"What? What is this?" Duncan exclaimed, as he was hit in the face with by a twig.

"It's a holographic imager."

"I figured that out thank you very much," Duncan gave him a scathing look. "Why are we standing in a hedge?"

"Because I got the original video from your Watcher. Now shut up and look will you?"

As Methos spoke, two figures came out of a house and started to make their way along a street, too wide to be anywhere in Europe, moving towards a T-Bird with Seacouver plates. Both seemed edgy, the woman looked anxiously back and the lad was hurrying forward, obviously intent on getting her to the safety of the car as quickly as possible.

"Tessa." Duncan breathed.

This was all wrong.

* * *

In the salon Tessa watched worriedly as the fitful sleep Richie had fallen into became increasingly restless. She glanced over at the door, as if that could make Duncan return sooner. It didn't usually take him this long to take out the rubbish. Every time she tried to soothe Richie, he became more and more agitated. She was afraid that he would cause more damage to the slowly healing wounds.

"Shhh," she stroked his hair gently. "Its alright, its over, you're safe now."

"No," Richie murmured. "Its not over Tess, gotta be careful. Its not safe."

Tessa pressed her lips together, if her touch could not settle him perhaps there was another way to banish the nightmare. Her mother had often said that talking about your fears took away their power. It had always worked for her and her siblings. And as far as she knew Richie had so far said nothing to anyone about his treatment at Ares hands. Maybe it would help if he talked a little, even if only in his sleep.

"Why is it not safe?" she coaxed.

"Because he's coming," Richie almost whimpered. "You think its safe. Everything's cool. But he's coming. He always does."

"Ares cannot hurt you here. Duncan will not allow it." She tried to reassure.

"Mac's not here," Richie protested, tossing his head from side to side. "Just me. S'dark. I can't see him."

"Just hold on. Duncan is close by. He will come and help you."

"Its too late. He's coming. He's coming, Oh God, please not again. Not again." To Tessa's astonishment a single tear leaked out from under his bandages and trickled down his face.

"Its alright," Tessa swallowed her own feelings and forced her voice to sound calm and soothing. "Its not real. Its just a dream."

"Oh God, look at his eyes Tess, he is so outta it. Don't look at the gun. Just give him the stuff. Maybe if I can keep him talking," Richie gripped her arm as his voice rose in panic. "Oh man, he wants more. We don't have anything. We don't have anything else! Oh God, _Tessa_!" he screamed.

Tessa could bear it no longer she couldn't just sit by and watch him in such distress. Desperately hoping that her instincts were correct, she quickly unwound the bandages around his eyes, almost collapsing with relief when she saw the healthy skin around his eyes. "Richie," She took him by the shoulders and shook him gently, "Richie, wake up. Its just a dream."

"Tess?" His voice asked, uncertainly, but with dawning awareness.

"Its alright," She encouraged. "Its just a dream. Can you open your eyes? For me?"

"Nuh uh," Richie shook his head. "You'll disappear on me. Like always."

Feeling an icy coldness that had nothing to do with the present threat, Tessa reached out and squeezed his hand in reassurance. "I promise you. I will be sitting right here. See?"

Slowly he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly even in the soft light of the salon as his eyes struggled to focus. With an expression of wonder he looked around the barge, taking in familiar furnishings and objects d'art, finishing his slow circuit by gazing intently at her face, as if scrutinising each and every one of her features against some unknown standard.

"Tessa?"

"Who else would I be?" Slightly uneasy, Tessa nonetheless forced a smile for him, reaching out to stroke his face, with a soothing hand.

"Oh man," Richie gave her a watery smile. "That was some dream. I thought stuff like that only happened on Dallas."

"Dallas?" She wrinkled her nose, looking at him in clear confusion. "But we are in France."

Richie stilled, as memory returned, looking again around the barge, this time taking in subtle differences, the placement of an ornament, the absence of a picture and on the desk, none of the smiling family photos that he so well remembered. In anguish he closed his eyes and turned away as a grief as raw as the first loss overtook him.

"Richie? What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Summoning the brightest smile he could muster, Richie turned back to face her. "I'm starving, is there any more of that pie left?"

He didn't think for a second that she had bought it. He had seen that look thousands of times before. Every time he had tried to tell her that he wasn't that sick. Or that being dumped by his latest girlfriend wasn't such a big deal. She would get that little furrow, right in the middle of her forehead and he would know he was sprung. Usually she had been pretty cool about stuff.

This time he figured he was toast.

"I am dead, non?" she asked bluntly.

"Tessa, I come from almost a hundred years in the future," Richie attempted to deflect her. "Everyone dies sometime, even Immortals."

"We are not taking about me dying in some hospital bed, as an old woman. Something happened. Something now. Or not long from now. A thief, with a gun. When you woke, you recognised me, like this. You thought I was her, non?"

"Tess," He sighed. "It's complicated."

Not for the first time Tessa was struck by how much he reminded her of Duncan. They had the same mannerisms, the same code of honour and apparently the same capacity to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. Many was the time that Duncan's cries had woken her in the middle of the night as he relived some atrocity he had witnessed or trauma he had undergone. Sometimes, she knew he was haunted by the guilt of his own actions, or inactions.

"What happened Richie? To us?" She prodded gently.

His answer was a short bark of pained laughter. "Nothing happened to me. I popped right back up again. Good as new. Better than new actually."

"This was how you became an Immortal?"

"Yeah." Richie agreed, avoiding eye contact.

"Richie, look at me," she commanded, waiting until he had reluctantly complied before continuing, not surprised to see the tears in his eyes. "That is hardly nothing. You died too. And I do not think your life has been easy, non? You are not like Duncan, born into a world of swords and death. You were just a boy, I cannot imagine how hard that must have been for you."

"When I was a kid, I always thought it would be so cool," Richie confided. "The places I'd see, the people I'd meet, and the swords. Oh man. Loved the swords. But its hard Tess. Always looking over your shoulder. Always wondering if the next guy is gonna be better than you. God, I hate the killing."

"Which is as it should be, n'est pas?" Tessa patted his hand. "You are a good man."

"I can't believe I'm sitting here talking to you about this," Richie shook his head. "I've lost count of the number of times I've laid awake nights, thinking what I should have said or done to keep you alive. I'm sorry, Tess. I am so sorry."

"Richie," Tessa put her arm around him, her heart aching for the pain that he had carried all this time. "You must not blame yourself. You were also his victim, non?"

"I tried to save you. As soon as the Project was up and running the first thing I did was go back to that night and try to make things right. But everything I tried just made things worse. It never worked out and sometimes, other people died. There was this one time," Richie flicked a quick sideways glance at her to see how she was taking all this. "We made it to the car without even seeing Roszca. You didn't die. I was still mortal. It changed things. A few days later, when we should have been in Paris and the store all boarded up for sale, this Immortal type came looking for Mac. It was a mess. You still died, I still became Immortal, only this time Mac lost his head."

"Oh mon Dieu!" Aghast, Tessa pressed her hand up against her mouth. "But how could this be? Surely Duncan was supposed to look after you?"

"Methos says there are two prophecies. One for the good guys and one for the other side. They both end up in the same place. It's just the balance of power kinda shifts along the way. Every time I tried to change things. I played right into their hands."

"Then perhaps it was not meant to be."

"Tessa, you _died. _Lying in a pool of blood on the street for nothing more than a chunk of change."

"And if I had lived to be a hundred and ended my days in my own bed, I would still have died, non?" Tessa shook her head. "Who is to say what is the true purpose of life? Or death? When I decided to stay with Duncan I knew there would be sacrifices. We would never have children. We could not grow old together. But I chose this life, because without love we are nothing. If my life could save others, I would give it freely. Your Tessa would not wish her love for you to become the cause of such pain."

Richie paused, meeting her gaze with a quick uncertain glance, before continuing in a quiet voice.

"When she was around your age, my Mom died. Right there in front of me at the Store. I thought she was playing a game, so I'm pushing her and laughing, but she didn't move. When you died that way, I felt like it was happening all over again. Except, I wasn't five anymore. Its not like I was helpless. I grew up on the streets. I knew what guys like Roszca were like. I should have been able to save you."

"Richie, it was not your fault. You must not torture yourself so," Tessa scolded lightly "Your mother would not have wished it, your Tessa would never have wanted it and I will not allow it, mon brave."

He managed a shaky grin. "You always used to call me petit."

"Perhaps, but I do not think you were more than three times my age back then." Tessa smiled back.

Richie laughed, and rubbed a sleeve over his watery eyes. Then he looked up and glanced around.

"Where's Mac?"

* * *

Duncan stood in stunned horror. The events he had just watched were playing themselves out over and over in his mind's eye long after Methos had turned off the sphere and put it safely back in his pocket.

"This hasn't happened yet," Methos' voice reassured. "Right now, Tessa is still safe and well and waiting for you at home."

"Then why torture me with this?" Duncan turned on him. "Once your precious prophecy is fulfilled everything about the future will be different. What possible good can it do to show me this now?"

"Because," Methos drew out the word. "Richie blames himself for her death. He always has."

Duncan sighed. Richie had been smart enough to know when not to argue and hand over the stuff. And brave enough to try and keep the thief talking so that if he did shoot his attention would be on him and not Tessa. He'd done everything right.

It just hadn't been enough.

"He had to watch her die." He realised.

"Yes. He still has nightmares about it."

Duncan sympathised. He didn't think he was going to be able to get the image of Tessa's broken and bleeding body lying on the pavement out of his head anytime soon. He'd probably have nightmares about it himself. And Richie had had to live through it.

"So," Methos asked conversationally. "Which one would you chose?"

"What?"

"This isn't over Macleod.," Methos advanced. "Ares isn't going to stay at home licking his wounds forever. Pretty soon he's going to make his next move and when he does we have to be ready."

"Oh I'm more than ready."

"Are you? When Ares has a gun pointed at Tessa's heart and a sword at Richie's throat. Are you ready to make that choice? You can't protect both of them."

"I won't let it come to that."

"And you think you'll be able to prevent it?" Methos laughed. "You couldn't stop them being murdered by a teenage punk with nothing between his ears except where his next fix was coming from. Ares has spent millennia planning this. Come on, Macleod. You've loved Tessa for over twelve years. You've only known Richie for a few weeks. How hard can it be?"

"Its not that simple!" Duncan protested. "I can't just pick one."

"Then they'll both die. And Ares will win. Is that simple enough for you?"

"Did anyone think to ask us?" Tessa's voice called sharply, her heels clicking on the cobblestones at her approach.

"Tessa?" Duncan straightened.

"Then where's Richie?" Methos' voice was full of dread.

"Behind you," Richie's voice answered just as the sense of an approaching Immortal washed over them. "Just give me a sec."

Duncan and Methos exchanged worried glances at the pain in his voice, turning to look as Richie limped slowly into the clearing under the bridge.

"He insisted in coming," Tessa explained. "You were gone so long. We were worried something had happened to you. We thought it could be Ares."

"You're looking better," Methos greeted him sourly. "At least this way when Ares took your head you'd be able to see it coming."

"And f you'd been Ares, you'd have been dead before you felt the buzz," Richie countered, opening his hand to reveal a dull metal cylinder. Duncan had no idea what the futuristic gizmo did, but it didn't look friendly. "I might have to fight him one on one, but I'm dammed if he's going to take out any more of my family before we're done here."

"Which is why I have come to a decision." Tessa announced.

"I had a nightmare," Richie supplied at Methos' enquiring look. Then he glanced hesitantly at Duncan. "You see, um . I .."

"I know," Duncan stepped up and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You alright?"

"Not really," Richie avoided his gaze by casting a grateful look at Tessa. "But I'm getting there."

"I'm glad to hear it," Tessa leant over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, softly wiping the residue of her lipstick away before smiling. "Take care of yourself."

"You too."

Duncan blinked. That sounded uncomfortably like goodbye. "Tessa?"

"Methos, is right, Duncan. I'll only distract you if I stay. It's better this way. I spoke to Darius and he's arranged for me at stay with the sisters of St Louis for a while," She smiled. "Perhaps I will gain divine inspiration for that commission from M Dumas."

Duncan glanced from her to Richie and back again, then took her by the arm and pulled her a little further away, so they could talk in relatively privacy.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to do this."

"You did not see him, Duncan," Tessa's voice was soft with pain at the memory. "After all these years. It was as if it was just yesterday for him. I do not think he could bear it if anything happened else happened to me because of him. Trust me, this is for the best. I will not be far," She smiled. "You can come and visit."

"Won't that shock the good sisters?" Duncan teased, pulling her closer.

"I certainly hope so."

"Alright," Duncan reluctantly agreed. "But at least let me drive you."

"There is no need. Darius has arranged everything. You need to take care of Richie."

"Just so long as you make sure you take care of yourself."

"You worry too much, Duncan," she smiled. "It is Holy Ground. I will be perfectly safe."

* * *

Reviews

Bemill – thanks for the encouragement. Rest assured Tess won't be out of out or out of mind, more family fic to come.

Ivy – OK, you sprung me, Methos had no intention of challenging Mac. Although, there is definitely another Methos out there and its not that far on a plane to Tibet, so you never know if he will make an appearance before this is over.

Tammi – At the risk of repeating myself I'm so glad you are enjoying it.

Sarai - Will Richie meet Rebecca? Definitely. Will Mac prevent Tessa's death? Well, he could now he knows what will happen there, but that might depend on whether they move to Seacouver in the first place.

Moone.301 - What can I say except the next chapter will be up as soon as I can, I promise! And thank you.

LoMaRiBa – And if that wasn't exciting enough for you, stay tuned.

Neoineon – Well Methos was trying to warn Mac, although not quite in the way that you suggested. Although after I read your review I couldn't help including the idea! And as for putting things right, there's no guarantee Richie's going to win. Well, all right, there is, but that doesn't mean to say I'm going to make it easy for him. Several chapters to go yet.


	12. Revalations II

Manzana - Many thanks for the review. Is Tessa in danger from Ares? Most certainly, but swords are not the only weapons (grin).

Neoinean - This was one of the reasons I wanted to write this story. There are a number of things in cannon that I think need to be worked out before Richie can face Ares. You _know_ I've got other things in mind! And since once Richie meets Ares everything will be different I don't have to worry about paradox any more.

Ivy - I do take your point about the time travel thing. But as I said in the prologue, I never set out to write a story about the mechanics of time travel. I was far more interested in the relationships between the characters. I guess that does require you to suspend your disbelief a little – but if they can believe in Immortals, time travel isn't that big a reach.

Sarai - LOL. I can't promise to fix everything all at once! But you get Amanda in this chapter and the others are on their way!

Bemill - I aim to please! So, the other Mac and the other Richie will feature soon. Honest!

Tammi - Glad you like it. Hope you enjoy the next chapter.

* * *

As the little group made its way back along the quay, Duncan caught sight of a car parked at a jaunty angle beside the barge. The sleek black sports car was nothing like the solid, sensible sedans that Connor favoured when he was travelling, which could only mean one thing.

"Duncan, what's wrong?" Tessa looked at him in concern.

"Nothing, sweetheart." He lied

As they entered the barge Amanda was sitting on the sofa, wearing a deceptively simple red dress that accentuated every single one of her considerable assets.

"Amanda, sweetheart, it's always good to see you." Richie quipped as he greeted her with open arms.

"Its good to be seen, Richard," Amanda smiled back as she hugged him gently, mindful of his still healing wounds. "I've missed those baby blues of yours." She patted his cheek.

"My second greatest asset." Richie waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Tessa cut in a bit tartly.

"Aw, c'mon Tess, all I've done for the last few days is rest. I'm dying of boredom."

"And you are still not well," Tessa crossed her arms. "I have made up the bed in the spare room. You will be more comfortable there."

"You're sending me to my room?" Richie grinned broadly as he leant over to give her an impulsive kiss on the cheek. "God Tess, I've missed you."

"I'm sorry," Tessa blushed slightly, aware of how ridiculous she was being. He was a hundred and five after all. She supposed he could do, as he liked. "But you really don't look well."

"Actually," Richie made a face. "What I'd really like is a shower. Its like I can still feel Ares crawling all over me."

Seeing Tessa about to protest, Duncan stepped in. Not withstanding the fact that the lad looked like he could barely stand up straight he could understand the need to wash Ares' touch away.

"How about a bath instead?" He negotiated.

"Want me to scrub your back?" Amanda purred.

Tessa glowered.

* * *

"Amanda," Duncan caught her arm and held her back as she went to follow Tessa and Richie to the bathroom. "What the hell are you playing at?"

His tone was brusque. He needed to make it clear that any idea that they might simply pick their relationship up where they had left off should be be put right out of her mind. He was with Tessa and that was an end to it.

He was prepared for her pout. For the way she sulked so prettily when things didn't go exactly her way. Her swift look of hurt took him by surprise, followed by the too bright smile she always used to hide her real feelings.

"Now Duncan is that any way to talk to a girl who is doing you a favour?" she asked in a brittle voice.

Not sure why she had taken his rejection so hard he nonetheless realised he had hurt her feelings and he hadn't meant to do that. He understood better than anyone, except perhaps Rebecca, how vulnerable she really was.

"I'm sorry."

He reached out and stroked her face in sincere apology. The softly spoken Russian a deliberate reference to their time spent travelling together with the Circus.

"That's all right Duncan," Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she replied in the same language. "I'm sure I can think of a way for you to make it up to me."

"Amanda." he rolled his eyes.

"Amanda is coming with me to the nunnery," Tessa's voice put in from the top of the stairs where she stood looking uncertainly from one to the other, trying to gauge the undercurrents of emotion flowing between them as they conversed in a language she couldn't understand. "Darius did not think I should be alone."

"I'm sure we'll find lots to talk about." Amanda smiled.

Duncan's heart sank.

* * *

"I can take a bath by myself you know," Richie pointed out, a trifle acerbically as both Duncan and Methos hovered in the in the small bathroom. "I've been doing it for a real long time."

"We're not stopping you," Methos pointed out, from his perch on the laundry basket. "You have to admit. Macleod, it's a sensible precaution."

"But Amanda?" Duncan pleaded from the doorway. "Couldn't you go with her?"

"And leave you alone here with Amanda? Really Macleod, how did you ever live this long?""

"Alright, then I'll call Connor."

"You can try. I'm sure his message service will pick up. Of course, you might have to wait a few decades."

"He's gone back to the future?" Duncan realised.

"This is a government funded project. They tend to get a bit nervous if someone doesn't show up for work every now and again. Besides we needed a few things. He'll be back soon," He looked over at Richie. "You're not making much progress."

"I'm waiting for some privacy," Richie scowled. "Do you really think Ares will go after Tessa on Holy Ground?"

"I don't know, but I think we have to be ready if he does."

"But Tessa's mortal. She's not part of the Game." Duncan protested.

"Its not that simple. Tessa's as much a part of this as any of us and Ares knows it."

"This is my fault," Richie blamed himself. "I should never have come back here. I've just put her in danger all over again."

"Hey," Methos chided. "The Prophecy was put in motion eons before you were even born. None of this is your fault."

"Oh God," Duncan's mouth went dry as the realisation struck. He'd been too busy before trying to absorb the broader implications of the Prophecy to notice the oblique reference but now it all made sense, "and from the spring of youth the brown warrior will raise him to his destiny in the brief light of summer and be his strength through all the seasons of his life."

"Exactly." Methos nodded.

"What?" Richie asked.

"Its Tessa," Duncan explained. Seeing Richie's look of confusion, he continued. "What does the name Tessa mean?"

"Um," Richie frowned in concentration. "Isn't it like a version of Theresa?"

"And one origin of Theresa comes from the Greek, _theros_."

"Summer?" Richie blinked. "The brief light of summer is Tessa?"

"So, you see," Methos shrugged. "She has to be protected. And right now Amanda's the only person available for the job."

"What about Rebecca?" Richie suggested. "She could look after Tess and keep Amanda in line."

"Rebecca?" Duncan straightened. "She's in France?"

"Richie we talked about this," Methos vetoed that idea. "The Prophecy doesn't like us altering its purpose. Ares changing things gives us the advantage. But if we try and alter things too much, we'll tip the balance of power in his favour. Rebecca won't thank you for that."

"You've spoken to her," Richie realised. "You know where she is."

"I wanted to be sure she was safe and well and not in any danger," Methos pointed out. "Now I want to try and keep it that way. And so should you."

"But .."

"Richard," Methos eyes narrowed. "Let it drop. Tessa will be quite safe with Amanda."

"You think so?" Duncan grimaced. "All that time cloistered together in a nunnery. They're bound to get on each others nerves."

"Oh, come on Macleod. It could be worse." Methos smirked.

"How?"

"They could actually get on."

* * *

"Alright," Duncan gently steered Richie into the bedroom and supported him with one arm as he pulled back the covers. "In you get."

"Thanks."

Richie sank down onto the soft mattress and closed his eyes gratefully. It seemed like bone in his body protested and every cut throbbed with pain. Getting his clothes off had been a long and tedious process and rather than soothing his aches the warm water just seemed to have woken everything up. Even so he managed a small smile as he felt Duncan tuck the bedclothes around him.

"Just like old times." He murmured without opening his eyes.

"We did this a lot huh?" Duncan smiled at him.

"I was kinda a trouble magnet when I was a kid. When I first met you and Tess I was living on the streets. I burnt my hand on this manifold. It was pretty bad. I probably would have died if you guys hadn't taken me in."

"You didn't have any family?"

"I moved around a lot, orphanages and foster homes and the like. It's hard to make connections when you never stay in one place very long."

Duncan hesitated, not entirely sure that he should ask what he needed. It wasn't really his business after all. Richie was a man grown, well able to take care of his own affairs. Nonetheless, if Richie had died at nineteen somewhere out there the bastards that did that to him was alive and well. He was quite keen to change that.

"They hurt you." His voice grated slightly. The thin white scars on the back of the lad's legs had made him sick to his stomach.

Richie opened one eye and regarded him with fond affection.

"Chill Mac. Stop mentally sharpening your sword. It was a long time ago. I'm over it."

Duncan wondered whether to call him on the obvious lie. Instead he offered a little truth of his own.

"I wouldn't be."

Both eyes opened and regarded him steadily. Then Richie sighed.

"Alright, so I'm not. But you made up for a lot Mac. A whole dammed lot."

"After Tessa died .." He could hardly voice the thought. Many was the time he had lain awake nights watching Tessa sleep and torturing himself with the thoughts of what his life would be like when she was inevitable taken. He had always known that it would be hard. But to loose her so soon and in such a manner it would have been brutal. He was afraid that he would have been so consumed by his grief that he would not have been able to give the lad the attention he so obviously craved. And would have desperately needed in those first few years of Immortality. "Was I fair to you?"

"I didn't make things easy for you," Richie remembered ruefully, making himself more comfortable. "I was kinda mixed up back then."

"Dying has a tendency to do that to people."

"I guess," Richie's eyes drifted closed. But he kept talking. "Part of me felt bad that I had lived when Tessa was gone. The other part of me was so shit scared of being Immortal. Now all these dudes with swords were gonna come for me. I figured it was just a matter of time before someone whacked me."

"Yet, you survived." He hoped that meant he had at least taught the lad well.

"You'd just lost Tessa. You weren't about to lose me too. Plus when we trained hard it kept the nightmares away."

Duncan nodded. He'd seen when they were working on the barge how physical labour centred the lad. Noting the dark circles around his eyes, he realised that wasn't an option right now. Richie needed at least another daybefore he'd be back to full strength.And Lord knows the lad needed his rest. He reached out took his hand in a gentle grip.

"Go to sleep, Rich. I'll keep watch."

"Thanks, Dad." Richie murmured as sleep claimed him.

Duncan's heart skipped a beat. The lad didn't mean him of course. He was thinking of the other Macleod, the man who had raised him. But sitting here, watching him sleep, trusting implicitly that the Scot would keep watch, that didn't seem to matter.

This felt right.

"Sleep well my bonnie lad," he murmured. "Da will keep the nightmares at bay."

Lord knows he wasn't going to let anyone or anything else hurt this lad if it was in his power to avoid it.

* * *

"How is he?" Methos asked quietly, as he passed Duncan a tumbler full of whiskey and sprawled on the end of the bed with his beer.

"He was a little restless earlier. But he seems to be sleeping now."

"Good," Methos swirled his beer around in the bottle. "Maybe, he can finally shrug off some of the guilt he's being carrying all these years."

"I want to meet my Watcher," Duncan's tone was deadly "I want to meet the man who stood by and did nothing while my family were gunned down in the street."

"Macleod, it wasn't like that."

"Of course, it wasn't. He didn't just stand there. He _filmed_ it."

"And if he'd shouted a warning or tried to rush him he'd just have provoked him into shooting sooner. Or maybe you would feel better if he had killed Rozca?"

"Of course not," Duncan denied hotly. Although in his heart of hearts he wasn't at all sure that wasn't exactly what he wanted. "But just to stand there and watch. Where's the honour in that?"

"Its what the Watchers do. They watch and they record."

"So, they can they hunt us?" Duncan growled.

"No, they don't interfere. Well not usually. They've been doing it for centuries."

"Centuries?" That got Duncan's attention. "I think I would have noticed." He was a warrior, trained to be aware of his surroundings. It seemed unthinkable that someone had managed to follow him around for centuries without his knowledge.

"Come on, Macleod. Who's going to notice another face in the crowd? You're trained to be alert to danger. These people are armed with notebooks and tape recorders, not AK-47s. I happen to know you've met your watchers on at least three occasions. But you never saw them as a threat because they weren't."

"What about now?"

"Joe's a good man and your friend. You read the eulogy at his funeral."

"Is he Watching us now?"

"Right now he's off in New York investigating a sighting of your double. Since you almost never leave the barge, never mind Paris, since you met Tessa, they've drafted in some rookie from research to take notes. Namely me. Its complicated but it means I can keep track of what they know about us."

"You're a Watcher?"

"Well, I was. Or rather Adam Pierson was."

"You called yourself Adam?" Duncan almost choked on his drink. "Don't you think that was a little obvious?"

"Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight."

"Does Ares have a Watcher?"

"Ares is one of the few Ancient Immortals left who knows what the Watchers are and how to avoid them. They don't even know he exists."

Duncan scrubbed at his face. "I'm beginning to understand why you drink so much beer."

"One of mankind's better inventions." Methos agreed as he toasted him with his bottle.

"If you disregard liver failure and heart disease."

"A body cannot live without salt. Yet in excess it is a deadly poison," Methos shook his head. "Everything has its price."

"Even love?"

"Especially love," Methos glanced fondly at the sleeping blonde Immortal. "That doesn't mean it isn't worth it."

* * *

Tessa tried to concentrate on the sketch of the marble statute, which she hoped to integrate into the commission for M Dumas. But her heart wasn't in it. She missed Duncan and hated not knowing what was happening. She was worried about Richie and resented the necessity to hide in seclusion like some damsel in distress. The sisters had been very kind, although the ease with which Amanda had slipped into the religious life made her feel slightly gauche.

Amanda.

She knew she was being unreasonable, a man whose life spanned four centuries had to have some past after all. She had always known that there had been other women in his life. She just hadn't expected to meet any of them. Especially not one who had had lifetimes to practice her feminine allures and whose beauty would never by dimmed by the passage of time.

She shook her head sharply.

She had nothing to be jealous of. Duncan had had his time with Amanda and moved on. He had chosen to be with her now and nothing in the last twelve years had ever given her the slightest cause to doubt Duncan's fidelity.

"So, this is where you are hiding."

The cool masculine tones cut into her thoughts without warning, causing her to look up sharply, with a gasp of surprise. Seeing the glint of satisfaction in Ares eyes at her discomfort, she drew herself up and forced a note of contempt into her voice.

"It is not hiding. I simply refuse to play your Game."

"You think you can escape your destiny?" Ares shook his head. "Poor little Tessa. Trying to be the brave modern woman, yet scurrying to the safety of the cloister like a medieval maiden when her men folk command."

"You know nothing of me." Tessa retorted, her eyes flashing. "This was my choice."

"I know you better than you know yourself," Ares scoffed. "You play at being an artist, using Macleod's money to protect you from the realities of life. You long for children but you are not strong enough to leave him. To the world you are a couple, but in your heart you know that the things he has told you about his past wouldn't even fill one lifetime, never mind four centuries."

"I know that he loves me."

"You still believe that?" Ares laughed mockingly. "I thought so too at one time. I imagined your death would devastate him, since he loved you so deeply. But I was wrong.It didn't take him long to find someone else."

"Then I am glad for him," Tessa declared stoutly. "If you knew anything of love, you would understand this."

"Before you were even a month in your grave?" Ares scoffed. "You should have seen your darling beloved, rutting around in the dirt like an animal. That's how much your precious memory meant to him. You think you are the love of his life, but you are merely a passing distraction, until he can be with the one he truly desires."

Ares positively glowedin satisfaction as he saw something in Tessa's expression faltered as he hit the raw nerve

"Now, do not feel badly my dear, how can you possibly hope to compete with a woman whom he has loved for centuries?"

"I do not believe you. It is all a lie." Tessa railed.

"Oh, you don't have to take my word for it. You can ask any of them. Richie was best man at their wedding. Methos gave away the bride. Connor conducted the ceremony. Everyone says that Duncan and Amanda are made for each other."

"Wedding?" Tessa's mouth went dry. "Amanda is his wife?"


	13. Rapproachment

Richie Ryan Macleod was far from stupid. He had eaten all his breakfast, dressed carefully to cover any remaining sign of his injuries and waited until Methos, who would realise exactly what he was up to, had disappeared on one of his mysterious errands, before he made his move. He grinned ruefully to himself, maybe all those years of trying to outwit his teachers and foster carers hadn't been entirely wasted after all.

"I don't know Rich," Duncan's frown stopped him in his tracks as he shrugged into his coat. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

Richie quickly pasted on his best "See, I'm fine" grin.

"C'mon Mac, its not like I'm gonna spar or anything. I'm just gonna be getting out in the fresh air, doing a little walking around."

"The last time you tried walking from here to the bridge it landed you flat on your back." Duncan retorted dryly.

"I'm Immortal. I heal fast."

"And what about Ares?"

"Its not like I can avoid him forever. Its my destiny or something."

"Still, maybe we should wait until Methos gets back?"

That was the last thing Richie wanted. He was absolutely positive that the Ancient Immortal wouldn't approve of what he had planned. He just hadn't banked on this Macleod being just as protective as his Da. He decided to try another tack.

"Alright, look I'll just go out for a quick spin on the bike. I won't even be walking."

"Nice try," that got him a tight grin. "It's still taxing your strength."

"Aw c'mon Mac," Richie resorted to his best puppy dog look. "I've been cooped up in here for ages. Just a few hours."

"Tell you what," Duncan bargained. "I'll go and get us something special for lunch. Connor said you like Chinese, right? If you eat something and have a nap afterwards we'll go out somewhere this afternoon. Okay?"

"A nap?"

"Take it or leave it, Tough Guy."

"Fine, alright, I'll take it," Richie conceded with bad grace, seeing a glimmer of hope in any plan that would leave him unsupervised alone on the barge.

"And while I'm gone I want you're word that you won't leave."

Inwardly Richie groaned. He had never been able to outwit Mac. Not even when they first met. He didn't know why he thought this version of the Scot would be any different. Still that didn't mean he had to give in easily.

"Mac, c'mon. Don't you trust me?"

"Your word as a Macleod laddie or you'll be eating dry crusts for dinner."

"Alright. My word on it," Richie scowled. "Satisfied?"

He would just have to try and think of some other way.

* * *

The trouble was, as he watched the T-Bird pull out into the traffic heading for the new takeaway Duncan and Tessa favoured, he hadn't been able to think of a single thing. He'd given his word, so he was trapped here for the duration, he just had to hope he could come up with a way to get round Mac before Methos, or Connor for that matter, returned. 

He had picked up a pack of playing cards and was flicking them idly into a dish on the coffee table when he saw the Taxi pull up at the curb. Seeing Tessa get out he was on his feet and out the door before she had even reached the gang-plank.

"Richie!" Tessa greeted him, her eyes wild and flashing.

"Tessa, what is it? What's wrong?"

"How could you?" Her hand flew out, making contact with his cheek with a resounding crack, which blossomed into as deep red mark on his pale skin.

"Ow!" Richie protested, bring his hand up to rub at the reddened skin even as it began to fade. "What was that for?"

"How could you?" She repeated. "How could you sit there and tell me that you care about our family, about what we mean to each other. And then give your blessing while Duncan takes that .. that hussy .. as his _wife_."

"Oh great. This is just great." Richie growled. He was going to kill Amanda.

"And that other! We were together twelve years! More! And yet he cannot wait until I am cold in my grave."

Richie stilled. Amanda might just have been upset enough to let slip to Tessa that she and Duncan were married and had been for some years. But she would never ever have told her about Annie Devlin. Which could mean only one thing.

Ares.

"Tessa," He reached out and put a hand on each shoulder, so that she looked him in the eyes. "Where's Amanda?"

"Get out of my way Richie. I am going to speak to Duncan."

"He's not here. Now when did you last see Amanda?"

"Do you think I care about her!" Tessa retorted hotly.

"Well, I do," Richie reached out and took both of Tessa's hands in his own. "Holy Ground or not Amanda would never have allowed Ares to get so close to you. So, Tess, please, where did you see her last?"

"I do not know. I could not find her. So, I came here."

Richie tried hard to hold on to his patience. "When did you last see her?"

"I was sketching by the pond. She was going to the kitchen to make us some tea."

There were very few things in this world that would make him break his word as a Macleod. But this was one of them. He fished in his pockets and brought out the keys to the bike.

"Show me."

* * *

Halfway along the rarely used gravel path a single red shoe lay forlornly in the grass. A few feet away, behind a hedge they saw a pair of feet attached to Amanda's inert body. 

"Is she ..?" Tessa couldn't ask, the bile rising in her throat.

"She still has her head. This is Holy Ground. Even Ares wouldn't dare cross that line," Richie bit his lip as he brushed Amanda's hair out of his face. He hadn't killed her, but he had gone out of his way to hurt her. "Let's get her inside."

"What shall we tell the nuns?" Tessa worried.

"Tessa," Richie rolled his eyes as he gently lifted Amanda. "They're nuns. You don't lie to nuns."

"Isn't that dangerous? What if they wish to call the Police?"

"They won't. If Darius made the arrangements you can bet the good sister have already encountered more than their share of Immortals."

Tessa was sceptical, but the Mother Superior accepted his explanation with little more than a raised eyebrow, merely instructing warm water, clean cloths should be brought to Amanda's bedroom.

"We'd better get her cleaned up." Richie moved to unbutton her dress.

"What do you think you are doing!" Tessa exclaimed, shocked.

"There's nothing worse than waking up all covered in blood. Trust me."

"Still, I do not think you should be touching her like that. It is not proper," She took a deep breathe. "I will do it."

"Tess, she's dead," he reminded her gently. "Its kind of icky."

He vividly remembered the first tie he had had to care for Duncan's dead body. It was decidedly unsettling taking care of a loved one when they were to all intents and purposes a corpse. It wasn't really something he thought she should be exposed to.

"She is dead because she tried to help me. It is the least I can do."

She braced herself before gently sponging away the pooling blood being careful not to touch the small flickers of blue light and making him turn his back as she dressed the body in clean clothing.

"Now what?"

"Now we wait." Richie shrugged.

* * *

"Tell me it is not true," Now that her initial anger had passed, the raw sadness in Tessa's voice cut into Richie's soul like a knife. "Tell me that Ares was lying and he did not sleep with this other Immortal so soon after I was gone?" 

"You mean Annie Devlin?"

"If that is her name."

"Tessa," Richie scrubbed at his face, he did not want to be having this conversation. "Its complicated."

"It is simple, non?" Tessa's voice was tight. "He cannot have loved me as he said."

Oh Tess, it wasn't like that," Richie swallowed hard. "He did it for me."

"I do not understand."

"I'd only been Immortal a few weeks. Mac was doing his best to train me but I still had a lot to learn. I made a mistake. A pretty stupid one and someone got killed. Permanently."

"But this is what you do, non?"

"The guy was a mortal. But his wife had a pretty sharp sword."

"She came after you?" Tessa was horrified.

"I was so scared. I mean there was no way. No way I was gonna beat another Immortal," Looking back now he realised Annie Devlin hadn't actually been very good. She had spent more time devoted to her cause than honing her duelling skills, relying on a few old favourites like the move Duncan had taught him to keep the head hunters at bay. But he hadn't thought that at the time, just a few short weeks into his immortality. "I was so sure I was dead."

"Yet you are still alive," Tessa pointed out. "Duncan must have taught you well, non?"

"I was lucky. Mac taught me how to counter her favourite move. But I could see he was scared and that scared me more than anything. He knew if she had tried anything else. Or if she had picked up some variation on her travels I would have been dead," Richie looked over at her. "He loved you, Tess. You gotta believe that. Your death almost destroyed him. Sometimes I think teaching me, putting aside his own pain to take care of my needs, was the only thing that kept him sane."

"And how did sleeping with this other woman take care of your needs?" Tessa scoffed.

"You know Mac, he had this whole chivalry and honour thing going on. She'd always liked him. He thought that if she slept with him, they would have this connection and she wouldn't be able to go up against me."

"Oh Richie."

"I couldn't believe it when I found out. I was so angry with him. I felt like he'd betrayed you and trashed everything that was good about our family. I so totally lost it. I called him names like you wouldn't believe. His face got all twisted, I thought he was gonna knock me clear across the room."

"But he did not."

"He cried Tess. He told me how much he loved me. How much you had loved me. He said he couldn't bear to lose me too and he would have done anything to protect me. He said you would have understood."

Tessa thought about that. Thought about her Duncan and the way he was so protective of those he cared about. How he had looked when Richie was hurting so badly, as if he would gladly have bore his pain if he could. She didn't much like it.

But she could understand.

* * *

They waited almost an hour before something in Richie's demeanour warned her that their patient was about to revive. Never having had the opportunity to see Duncan rise from the dead she watched with a kind of morbid fascination as Amanda took a ragged breath and sat up. 

"Ares?"

"Long gone," Richie assured her. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a pin cushion." Amanda sat up and frowned at her clothing.

"I could not find anything suitable for sleeping among your clothes," Tessa informed her. "So, I used one of my shirts."

"Oh, I don't usually wear anything in bed." Amanda purred.

"Amanda, behave," Richie warned. "Ares wasn't exactly paying is a social visit."

"Oh?"

Richie said something in a language Tessa didn't even recognise, but it caused Amanda's eyes to go flint hard with fury.

"Richard, why don't you run down to the kitchen and see if the nuns have anything to eat?" she suggested smoothly. "Dying always makes me peckish."

"Um, maybe I should just hang around here for a bit." Richie looked doubtfully from one to another.

"Ares won't be back. He'll wait to see how much damage his little scheme has wrought before he makes another attack." Amanda was speaking to Richie but her eyes were fixed on Tessa.

"Frankly I'm more worried about you two killing each other while I'm gone."

When they both shot him identical looks of exasperation he prudently withdrew.

"He told you." Amanda sighed.

"That you and Duncan were married? Yes. I do not understand it," Tessa got straight to the point. "You made it very clear to me that we were are rivals for Duncan's affections. Yet you died to protect me."

"Duncan loves you," Amanda shrugged a little self-consciously. "I would never do anything that would hurt him."

"I suppose you can afford to wait."

"It wasn't like that," Amanda assured her. "We waited almost a century before he was ready. He loved you. He always has."

"But it is you he marries." Tessa bit her lip.

"Oh," Amanda realised. "Of course, you don't know. How could you? He was going to marry you. He proposed the week before you were killed."

"You are just saying this." Tessa shook her head.

"No. Connor was flying in from New York. Richard was going to be the best man. You were going to wear blue," She shrugged. "Richie told me so I did not bring up any sad memories."

"He thinks a great deal of Duncan."

"He loves you both," Amanda sighed. "He was thrilled to be part of a family. He didn't get much love as a child."

"Perhaps, for his sake, we should make more of an effort to get along?" Tessa offered

"Did Duncan ever tell you about the time he was a trapeze artiste? Amanda smiled.

* * *

In a way, Richie mused, things had all worked out for the best. The day's events had allowed Tessa and Amanda to reach a new level of understanding and if anyone knew where he could begin his quest, it would be Amanda. 

"Aw, come on Amanda," Richie wheedled. "You were always her favourite. You gotta know where she is."

"I wish I did. The house is closed up. There is no answer at the chateau," Amanda shrugged. "I don't know where else to look. If as Methos says that she is in Paris then she is not in any of the usual places."

"He said he'd spoken to her. He never actually said she was in Paris."

"Well, she never liked Italy very much," Amanda offered "Other than that."

"She could be anywhere." Richie realised despondently.

"Have you tried Darius? He always seems to know where everyone is?"

"The idea, Amanda dearest is not to tip Methos off to what we're doing."

"Then I don't know what else we can do."

"You must have some way of getting in touch with her. Some secret code or emergency contact number, just in case."

"I've already tried everything," Amanda shrugged. "Methos probably warned her we'd be looking for her. "

Richie sighed.

Amanda reached out and ran her fingers through his curls. "You thought she might be here, didn't you?" she asked sympathetically.

"I guess." Richie hitched a shoulder disconsolately. "When Ares had me, it was one of the things that kept me going. I knew she was out there alive and well. I just want to meet her. Is that so much to ask?"

"I'm sorry Richard," she slipped a consoling arm around his shoulders. "I wish I could help."

They sat like that for a while as she stroked his hair and pretended not to notice when his silent tears soaked into her dress, she desperately wished she could do more for him. Rebecca had always been such an important part of her life, it didn't seem far that he had missed out on that.

"You could go and talk to Joe?"

"Yeah right. He doesn't even know who I am."

"Ah," Amanda tapped him on the nose with her finger. "But you know all about him."

* * *

From the mezzanine at the back of the store Joe Dawson glanced down in surprise at the young blonde figure that passed through the door, and looked around. He knew better than to judge by appearances, but he'd bet his new amplifier that the kid in the blue jeans and brown leather jacket hadn't come to buy a book. 

"Exquisite! How old did you say this was?" his customer asked.

"About 300 years," Joe answered distractedly. "Give or take a decade."

He had to bite back a grin as of the two assistants the kid ignored the obvious choice. Debra was young and pretty and blonde and already tossing her hair at him in the hope of being able to treat his offer of dinner and an date with the disdain for which she was notorious. Instead, the kid approached Marsha. A plump homely woman in her mid forties, with the kindest heart of anyone Joe had ever known.

"Bright kid." He murmured.

"Hey," the kid smiled a soft, bashful smile. "I'm looking for Joe Dawson."

"I'm sorry dear," Marsha shook her head genuinely sorry she couldn't help this delightful young man. "I'm afraid Mr Dawson is busy with an important client."

Joe wondered if he would press the point. Make a scene perhaps. But the kid just shrugged.

"That's too bad. When you see him could you give him this?"

He didn't leave Joe noticed. Just wandered around idly looking at the shelves as if knowing that whatever was in the envelope that Marsha was bringing towards him with an apologetic smile would get his attention. He wasn't expecting trouble. By all accounts the kid had been spending a great deal of time at the barge while he was out of town, a privilege Macleod only extended to those friends he implicitly trusted. Still he didn't expect to see a dog-eared photo of him and the kid with their arms around each other, eyes sparkling with fond affection, a song he didn't remember composing jotted down in his own handwriting and his father's silver lighter that not ten minutes ago had been in inside pocket of the jacket hanging on the back of his chair.

"Do I know you?"

The blonde kid looked up from the book he was leafing through

"You know what they say Joe. The camera never lies."

"Photos can be doctored," He waved the letter. "Documents can be altered." He held up the lighter. "And when did you steal this?"

"You gave me it."

"The hell I did."

"It's a long story." Then forestalling anything Joe might have said he held up the book he'd been holding. "This Iain Macleod is interesting. I have a friend who would really like this. How much is it?"

Joe's eyes narrowed as his saw what the kid had chosen "A History of the Clans of the Scottish Highlands" If he remembered correctly that version was in the original Gaelic and he didn't think the kid had learnt Gaelic at the local Lycee.

"That's a first edition. You sure you can afford it?" He fished. It would be a hell of a lot easier if all Macleod's friends would wear a sign saying "Immortal" or "Mortal" at least then a guy would know what he was dealing with.

"I've been saving for a real long time."

"You didn't tell me your name?"

"C'mon Joe. You may have been outta town but your organisation isn't that shoddy. You know who I am."

"Let's take this into my office." Joe decided.

* * *

As he settled himself into a chair Joe mentally ran through everything Pierson's report had mentioned about the kid. Name Richard Ryan, known to his friends as Richie or Rich. Current passport claimed he was born in Quebec in the seventies. Previously unknown to the Watchers. Connection to Macloed unknown. Connection to Connor Macloed unknown. Connection to Amanda unknown. Background checks in progress. No results as yet. Joe snorted. It wasn't much to go on. 

"Alright, why don't you tell me what you want?"

"Look, there's no easy way of saying this, so I'm just gonna come right out with it. You can just believe me or not. Your choice."

"Alright."

"Reader's Digest. I'm an Immortal You're a Watcher. You have a database. I need an address."

Then he told him everything.

He hoped he might have made an impression, but the long, slow, hand clap with which Joe greeted his revelations was not reassuring.

"You've done your research kid, but you left out one thing. We Watch. We record. We don't interfere. I'm not going to help you head hunt."

"C'mon Joe," the look of anguish on the kid's face was heart rending. Either he was telling the truth or he was a consummate actor. "I just want to talk to her."

"Do I look like a dating agency?"

"It's not like that."

"Sorry, no can do," Joe shook his head. "And I'll keep the lighter, thanks."

He went to return his lighter to its customary place. And found its twin already there. Frowning curiously he examined them side-by-side. Every flaw, every nick, was identical.

Still.

"Look kid. Maybe when she's ready to talk to, she'll find you." He offered.

He nodded softly, like he didn't much believe that. As he got to the door he cast a critical eye around the musty old bookshop.

"You know, you should get into another line of business. This just doesn't seem like you."

"Really?" Joe gave him a sardonic look. "And what exactly do you suggest?"

The smile almost did it. A soft gentle smile that set his eyes twinkling with fond affection. He'd just shot the kid down in flames but here he was smiling at him like he was his long lost Uncle returned from the dead. But it was his next words that clinched it.

"A bar Joe. You and the blues belong together."

* * *

Richie stood outside the store and wondered what the hell to do next. Asking Joe had always been a long shot. It was a pretty tough call to presume on the friendship of someone who hadn't even met you yet. He knew where the Watchers Headquarters were here in Paris. But a break in like that would need help. Methos wouldn't do it. This Macleod probably couldn't. And Amanda needed to say with Tess. He would just have to break into Joe's place tonight and lift the information from his files. It didn't feel right, stealing from a friend, but at least Dawson would never know he'd been there. 

"Hey kid, wait up!" He turned to see Dawson making his way down the road behind him, waving the leather covered volume. As he walked back towards him Dawson thrust the heavy tome towards him. "You forgot your book."

"You keep it, Joe," Richie shook his head. "Mac probably knows all that stuff anyway."

"Take it anyway," Joe insisted, tipping his head on one side with a grin. "Who knows, you might learn something."

"Yeah?"

Curious now Richie took the book and leafed through its pages until he discovered the thin slip of cream paper hidden within its folds. Written on it in a flowing hand was the address he had been looking for

"This doesn't mean I believe any of that stuff you said in there," Joe warned him. "But I got to thinking. The Watchers have been arguing about the purpose of the Game for Centuries. Who's to say what its really about? I don't know you, but I do know Macleod and if he's in your corner then you're probably a stand up kind of guy."

"Thanks Joe. This means a whole lot to me."

"Well now, maybe you could do something for me." Joe grinned hopefully.

"Name it."

"Introduce me to Macleod."

"Oh man, Macleod," Richie realised. "He's probably taking the city apart looking for me by now." He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, torn by indecision. If he went back to the barge Mac would probably never let him out of his sight again.

"So, give him a call." Joe shrugged.

"Joe, he's not gonna understand."

"No, but if you leave a message on his answer phone at least he'll know you still have your head and you won't have to worry about talking to him."

"That's a great idea," Richie enthused. "Um. Can I use your phone?"

* * *

After a few wrong turns Richie brought his motorcycle to a halt and looked up past the semi-circular gravel drive to the comfortable manor house in a village outside of Paris. This was the place. He looked down at the paper just to be sure. 

_Rebecca Horne_

La Maison des Arbres Carrieres sur Seine 

Yes. This was definitely the place.


	14. Reunion

It wasn't nearly as hard as he had imagined it would be. He got off the bike, walked up to the front door and waited. To his left was an ancient bell pull, designed to announce the arrival of the great and the good to the family of the house. He wondered idly if it was still in working order. Not that he needed to use it.

Sure enough, his buzz brought footsteps echoing down the hallway and the large, heavy oak door swung open.

"I told you not to come." Methos scowled, lowering his sword.

"You told me you were going out to buy beer." Richie retorted.

"I did," Methos stood aside to let him enter. "I thought you'd need a drink when you got here. The gods forbid you should ever actually listen to a word I say."

"I always listen," Richie countered, looking round at the black and white tiled entry hall, decorated with a large stone fireplace over which was mounted a selection of animal heads. "Nice."

"It's rented," Methos said by way of explanation. "We were supposed to be in hiding."

"She's really here?"

"If I told you she wasn't would you go away like a good little Immortal?"

"Not a chance."

"How did you find us anyway?"

"I spoke to Joe."

"I knew I should never have become your teacher," Methos complained as he started to make his way down down the corridor which led to the rest of the house. "You'd never have been this devious if I'd left you to Macleod."

Richie knew he should follow him but his legs seemed glued to the black and white tiles that decorated the entry hall. His stomach clenched and his palms began to sweat. It had been so long. And yet he wasn't at all sure he was ready.

"Come on."

He looked up to see the Ancient Immortal had returned to his side, his eyes dark with understanding. Quirking his lips in a smile, he offered his hand. Just as he had when as a child Richie had needed to stay close on a busy sidewalk, or navigate an impossibly wide intersection. Richie gave him a sheepish smile, recognising that he was behaving like an idiot.

Even as he took the hand.

They made their way down the hall to a drawing room furnished in dark heavy oak furniture with thick velvet drapes and an absurdly patterned carpet. But all Richie's attention was focused on the woman seated on the divan. If it wasn't for the photos Mac had given him he would never have recognised her face. But he would know her voice anywhere.

"Oh Richie."

She rose gracefully to her feet and came towards him in a cloud of scent that was achingly familiar. He stood, unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe even as she embraced him, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. Then she pulled back and searched his face, her own features creasing into a frown.

"You should not have come."

Richie felt like he had been doused with ice water. He stood there with his jaw hanging slightly open, lacking the coherence of thought, never mind speech, to process what Rebecca had just said. She couldn't have said what he thought she had said. If she did she couldn't have meant it.

Could she?

"And you," Rebecca turned on Methos. "You were not supposed to encourage him. This is wrong. It is not safe."

"Me? I told him not to come." Methos defended himself. "I absolutely forbade it."

"I had to come," Richie spoke up with quiet determination. "Cos I waited a real long time for you to come to me and you never did."

Rebecca looked wordlessly at Methos.

"I could say I told you so," The Ancient Immortal shrugged. "It's been a hundred years. He's not a toddler anymore."

She reached out and cupped her hand under Richie's chin as she always had done when he was child and he had done something to make her especially proud.

"Perhaps I should be more concerned about Ares' safety," She smiled. "For me it has been such a short time. It still seems like only yesterday. I should have known Duncan would raise you well. My little boy has become a man."

"Yeah, Mac did a great job," Richie agreed. "Specially since he had to be Mom and Dad both."

"Oh love," Rebecca took his hand and led him to the couch. "I'm sorry about what happened to your Tessa. And I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you as you were growing up. I wish things could have been different. I tried to keep you but after Ares found us it just proved how vulnerable you were. The only way I could be absolutely certain you would survive was to surrender you to the Prophecy."

"I can see that. I can. I mean, back then I was just a little kid, and Methos explained you knew I'd end up with Mac eventually, but what about later?" Richie couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. "Mac was always introducing me to his old Immoral buddies. I met Amanda. I met Grace. I even met the old timer over there. How come I never met you?"

"That wasn't what we planned," Rebecca frowned at Methos. "That's not what the Prophecy fore told. We were supposed to raise him together, all three of us. How could that not come to pass?"

"I was getting to that." Methos admitted uncomfortably.

"Getting to it? You haven't told her?" Richie demanded.

"I was waiting for a good time."

"Now's good." Richie insisted.

So Rebecca listened in silence as Methos, with occasional interjections from Richie, outlined the circumstances that had led to her beheading at Luther's hands. When they were finished a glimmer of understanding flickered in her eyes.

"Who avenged my death?"

"Amanda wanted to. Mac wouldn't hear of it. He was afraid if she went up against him in the state she was in she'd lose. He took care of it himself." Richie told her.

"Then all was as it should be." Rebecca smiled.

"But you _died_. I mean I know you loved your husband, but did you even think about me? Just a bit?"

"Not every loss is a defeat my love," Rebecca squeezed his hand, not minding that he was attributing actions far in the future to her present self. They were still the same person after all. "When Duncan took Luther's Quickening he received mine also. All these years I have been part of him, so in a sense we have raised you together."

* * *

Connor had barely got through the door when he realised that Duncan looked distinctly out of sorts and, contrary to all good sense, he was alone.

"Where's Risteard?"

"He was here, I went to pick up lunch. When I got back he was gone." Duncan recited the events of that morning for his kinsman, glancing without interest at the packages Connor placed carefully on the couch.

"You knew he wanted to go out and you just left him here? Alone?" Connor demanded when he was finished.

"He gave me his word as a Macleod," Duncan growled. "I thought you'd have taught him better than to break his bond to a kinsman."

Connor looked up sharply. "He'd given his word?"

Duncan read everything he needed to see in Connor's expression and more. Richie would not have broken his word lightly. At least not to Duncan Macleod.

"I'm not his Da." He shrugged. Painful to admit. But true.

"No matter," Connor eyed him keenly at the note of jealously in his tone. "He's still the lad you raised. He wouldn't have left unless it was a matter of life and death."

"Ares?" Duncan's mouth went dry.

"Not likely. That one would want us all close at hand to wallow in the lad's agony. Where are the others?"

"Amanda took Tessa to the safety of a nunnery," Duncan dismissed that. Not even Ares would cross that line. "Methos left this morning saying he was going to buy beer. I haven't heard from him since."

"That's not surprising," Connor observed, as he made his way over to the answering machine where the red light was blinking patiently. "If you never pick up your messages."

As he pressed the button it was Tessa's voice that filled the barge. "Duncan, where are you?" A sigh. "Never mind. I just wanted to hear your voice. All is well here, I will speak with you tomorrow." A pause. "You know Duncan, you never told me you were quite so flexible."

Duncan could feel his cheeks flaming red as he quickly stabbed at the button to move the machine onto the next message, acutely aware of the amused gaze of his mentor. He was going to kill Amanda.

"Macleod?" Methos voiced echoed around the room. "Macleod, if you're there, pick up the bloody phone," A pause. "Oh great, just bloody wonderful. Richie's just been seen leaving the barge. You'd better be dead Macleod or I'll kill you myself."

"Dawson," Duncan seethed. "Watching but doing naught to help. Again."

He was having a great deal of trouble understanding how a man he had apparently counted among his most trusted friends could see disaster approaching and do nothing but _watch._

"There's another message." Connor noted.

Finally Richie's disembodied voice filled the barge. "Mac? Its Richie. Look I'm sorry I had to duck out on you but it was important. But its OK, I'm fine. We're all fine. Everything's fine here. Um, how are you?" A pause during which Duncan could almost feel the lad wince. "Look, I gotta go. Don't worry OK? I'll be back before you know I'm gone. Hey, time travel's gotta be good for something, right?"

"Can he do that?" Duncan wondered into the sudden silence.

"If he had we would hardly be looking for him now, would we?" Connor frowned. "Something's amiss."

* * *

Duncan surveyed the small bookshop, squeezed between a grocers and a bakery with grim determination. The front of the store was in darkness, closed and shuttered against the approaching night. But Duncan was only concerned with the small, desk light that flickered in the small office, right at the back of the store.

"Someone's home."

"Duncan," Connor caught his arm, demanding his attention. "Use your head man. You can't just walk in there and demand to know where the lad is."

"Do you have a better plan?"

"Always," Connor grinned tightly. From his pocket he produced a floppy disc. "And this way Dawson will never have to know that we know that he knows anything at all."

Duncan frowned at the small black disc. The computer that Tessa had bought to keep track of her commissions seemed to do nothing but beep every time he touched it. But Connor seemed to know what he was about.

At least he hoped so.

"Alright, so we wait until .."

The loud crash of something shattering followed by a cry of pain, caused both Immortals to look at each other, their eyes widening in concern. As one they moved smoothly into action, Connor covering the door as Duncan deftly picked the lock, advancing soundlessly like the trained soldiers they were, using the bookcases as cover as first one and then the other advanced.

And froze, as from the direction of the office they heard a voice thick with now familiar menace.

"Now tell me where Ryan is."

"Not in this lifetime. He seemed like a pretty good kid. You on the other hand look like a murdering bastard," Joe hissed between gritted teeth. "So go ahead. Kill me. I'm not giving him up."

"How little you know of pain, Watcher." Ares purred. "Would you like me to show you?"

"You think I got these playing in the sandbox at Kindergarten?" Joe used a hand to indicate his prosthetic legs. "So go ahead. Do your worse. You still won't know where to find the kid."

"You're bluffing and you don't even have any idea of the stakes," Ares sneered. "Ryan loves you. You were like a favourite Uncle to him. If I kill you, because of him, he will be utterly devastated, so you see either way, I win."

"Go to hell," Joe raised his voice. "You're gonna kill me even if I do tell you. At least this way I get to do something good."

Duncan looked across to see if Connor had heard. Judging by the expression on his kinsman's face he had. Duncan closed his eyes briefly as he tried to consider their next move. A few steps closer and Ares would undoubtedly sense them.

Which could work to their advantage. Or it could get Dawson killed.


	15. Remenisance

AN – Thanks as ever for the reviews. Hope you all got my e-mails. Only a couple of chapters to go now!

* * *

Duncan looked helplessly over at Connor. What they needed was a distraction, something to draw Ares away from Dawson before they made their move. He looked around the store, noting books, manuscripts, but nothing of any possible use for his purpose.

"This never happens to MacGyver." He muttered. Even in the most barren of locations Tessa's favourite action hero always managed to find sufficient materials to make whatever the plot required. Duncan had long since stopped pointing out the inconsistencies. Bruises might heal. But they still hurt.

"Tell me!"

Duncan winced as Ares' harsh words were accompanied by the sound of a blow and a stifled moan of pain. After a pause, Joe's voice spoke, weaker and more defeated than before.

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you. The address is in that drawer there."

Duncan's heart sank. He had been rapidly revising his opinion of Dawson. The man had shown considerable courage standing up to Ares and admirable moral fibre if he was prepared to go out on a limb to protect a good kid like Richie from a threat like Ares. Especially since he didn't really know the lad and his oath as a Watcher gave him prefect licence to hand over the address. Somehow he didn't think protecting one Immortal from the threat of another came under the umbrella of non-interference. Still he couldn't judge him too harshly. Ares was a very formidable foe and everyone had his or her limits. He would just have to make sure he got to Richie before Ares.

"You get it." Ares commanded harshly, obviously fearing some sort of trap.

"Alright, fine," Joe swallowed, hard and made a grimace of pain. "Just give me a minute."

"Now!"

"Alright, already," Joe reached over with difficultly to open the drawer.

What Duncan hadn't expected was that Dawson would provide a distraction of his own. From the drawer he produced, with a speed that belied his earlier apparent infirmity, not a piece of paper but a small squat handgun, Ares only had time to curl his lips in a sneer before he was shot.

"Now _that_ was bluffing," Joe spoke in evident satisfaction. Then he sighed. "Now what the hell am I gonna do with you?"

"I might be able to help with that." Duncan emerged from the shadows.

Dawson looked up in surprise at the familiar voice and found himself face to face with the man he had been watching all these years. A man he knew almost as well as he knew himself. His assignment.

"Duncan Macloed." He breathed.

* * *

They had all long since removed from the stuffy drawing room to the large stone floored kitchen, which had been more tastefully furnished in the simple scrubbed wood and brightly painted tiled that had been the lot of the hired help. Methos took charge of the stove as Rebecca organised drinks for them all. A soft merlot for her, beer for Methos, and for Richie, she turned and looked at him with a teasing smile.

"Chocolate milk?"

"I always loved that didn't I?" Richie grinned at the memory as he took one of the chairs and straddled it. "Cept you only let me have it on alternate days."

"You didn't need the extra sugar." She laughed softly as she passed him a cold beer.

"That's what Mac always used to say about sodas." Richie grinned.

Rebecca looked at him, her expression grave. She had missed so much of his life. It seemed so unfair on both of them. She reached out to touch her face as if to assure her self that he was really there. He pressed her hand to his face and smiled.

"Its OK, It'll be different next time. I promise."

At least he hoped so. No-one seemed to know what the prize actually was. But anything that cost his family this much pain had better be prepared to make good their sacrifices.

"I had Darius watch over you," Rebecca admitted sadly. "I insisted on that at least. Every year at Christmas and birthdays he would send me a photo and a line or two about how you were. He didn't tell me everything. I know," she sighed. "And some of the things he did tell me were hard enough to read."

Richie used the hand he still held to draw her down into a chair.

"When I was a kid, I always hoped some one would come for me. If not my Dad then some long lost Auntie or cousin or just some body would turn up and say "You can't do that to him. He's ours." He shook his head when Rebecca went to interrupt. "No, hear me out. Like I said back then I was just a kid But now I get it. Now I understand. This is a war and to win a war you gotta lose a few battles. Its not like anything happened to me that hasn't happened to any of us."

"That does not make it right." Rebecca insisted.

"No, it doesn't," Richie agreed. "But it doesn't make me the victim in this either. We've all suffered. You, me, Amanda, Mac, hell the last time Darius died. Its like every time we take one step forward we gotta take two steps back."

Methos and Rebecca shared a wordless look.

"What?" Richie demanded.

"I told you he was bright." Methos shrugged.

"What?"

"None of this is a co-incidence my love," Rebecca took his hand. "Ours has been by far the hardest path. Progress has long been an uphill struggle."

Richiie looked warily from one to the other a horrible realisation dawning. "How long?"

"Last time," Methos eyed him seriously. "The evil won."

* * *

Duncan looked down at Ares inert body with an almost overwhelming loathing, as he recalled the horrors he had inflected on Richie. His sword hand twitched, it would be so simple to just take his head, here and now, before he revived and the prophecy and any concept of honour be dammed so long as evil slept.

Except, he could not shame his son like that.

"Take him out of my sight, before I do something I'll regret." he forced out, not taking his eyes off Ares as his kinsman emerged silently out of the shadows to stand at his shoulder.

"It'll be my pleasure," Connor promised grimly. He might not be able to kill Ares but he could make him suffer. And perhaps he could delay the inevitable, at least until Risteard was more ready to face the threat. He hefted Ares over his shoulder and glanced at Dawson. "What about him?"

"He's gonna watch and not interfere." Duncan smiled thinly.

"Did we take out an add in Le Monde or something?" Joe wondered as Connor bore Ares away. "Since when did every Immortal in Paris know about the Watchers?"

Duncan picked up a chair and straddled it, eying Dawson keenly. There was no doubt that the man had courage. And honour. Maybe he had judged him too harshly. Still, that didn't mean the mortal had any business meddling in Immortal affairs. It would get him killed.

"Protecting Richie is my job."

"So sue me," Dawson wasn't fazed. "The kid seems to think we are friends and besides I like him."

"Yeah," Duncan agreed fondly. "He does tend to have that affect on people."

"He's going to get himself killed." Dawson pulled no punches. "You gotta do something Macleod."

"Its not my help he needs."

Duncan left the comment hanging to see if Dawson would bite. It had occurred to him that Dawson would know everything Methos hadn't told him about the sightings of this elusive other Macleod. And unlike Methos he might be convinced to share. But Dawson would be bound to suspect something if he just flat out asked him what he had been doing in New York.

"Why should I help you?" Joe challenged.

"Because you want to," Duncan gave him a boyish smile. "And because you're practically dying of curiousity."

Dawson regarded him steadily. Then he stood and reached up to a shelf behind his desk, placing first two glasses then a bottle of whiskey on the table. Settling himself back in the chair he poured two generous measures and pushed one of the glasses across the table to the Highlander.

"I'm listening."

* * *

"Please tell me he's not serious." Richie raised pleading eyes to Rebecca, if Ares had won last time, then God help him.

"I wish I could love." Rebecca squeezed his hand.

"Ares vanquished all before him," Methos continued, staring into his beer as he recalled those dark days. "Those of us that were left were over whelmed by its power. We embraced it and it consumed us so that we enjoyed the harm that we did. Me, Darius, countless others, we were all turned by it. Only those few who had escaped to the Sanctuary of Holy Ground were spared."

"You? Right?" Richie looked at Rebecca.

"Among others," she nodded. "At first we were too afraid to act. We were too few in number and too weak to fight. We feared we would be slaughtered the moment we set forth into the world. But gradually, we grew stronger in number and in spirit and began righting the wrongs that Ares and his kind had wrought, one person at a time."

"Must have been hard."

"It took centuries," Rebecca agreed. "Evil begets evil. Power corrupts. Greed calls to all that is selfish in the human sprit. It hadn't been like that before. Now the weak were easy prey to those who would corrupt them, with such evil in the world even those who strove to be good couldn't avoid its temptations, jealously, revenge, self-righteousness, the horror done by those who claimed it was in the name of justice, was almost worse then those who sought personal gain, at least they were honest in their depravity."

"Yeah, but you can't just let the bad guys win. Right?"

"All it takes for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing?" Methos quoted. "What do you think the wives and children of the innocent men Macleod slaughtered after Culloden thought of his justice?"

"Mac knows that was a mistake," Richie defended his father. "But among Immortals. I mean that is what we're supposed to do, right?"

"Sometimes." Rebecca agreed.

Mac had said exactly the same thing to him the day he had failed to take Annie Devlin's head. It made as little sense to him now, all these years later, than it had at the time.

"And the other times?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Duck." Methos advised him succinctly.

* * *

"You know," Richie said as he picked his helmet off the handlebars of his motorcycle. "Amanda's going to kill me when she finds out I know where you are."

"Then don't tell her." Rebecca counselled.

"This is Amanda?" Richie reminded her. "She has _ways_ of getting stuff outta people."

"Then perhaps we should just make everything easier all round and come to dinner tomorrow." Rebecca laughed.

"You mean it?" Richie's face lit up. "You wanna come and meet Mac and Tessa and everyone? Oh that would be so cool."

Shyly, impulsively he leant over and kissed her cheek. "Thanks .. Mom"

"It is the least I can do after so long."

"But, um, I mean, it won't be like dangerous for you or anything? Will it? Cos, I'd hate for anything to happen to you. Specially, cos of me."

"I have been looking after myself for a long time," Rebecca assured him. "And I think perhaps we were wrong to try and keep things as they were before. Ares has changed things by coming here. Now at least we can face whatever the future brings together. As a family."

"Talking of which, I gotta go. Mac worries."

Rebecca laughed as she pulled him into a quick hug. As she released him he looked over at Methos. "You coming old timer?"

"Right behind you."

"Alright." Richie swung his leg over the bike and gunned it into life, but his his eyes lingered on Rebecca, as if reluctant to let her out of his sight.

"I'll see you tomorrow, remember?" She promised gently..

Reassured, Richie gave them both a jaunty wave and accelerated off down the drive.

"Perhaps we should have told him?" Rebecca wondered aloud

Methos didn't look at her. His eyes were on the small figure receding in a trail of dust.

"Absolutely not.


	16. Reassurance

Duncan Macleod barely noticed the squealing of his car's tyres as he turned the last corner onto the quay. Sure enough, there it was, parked at a jaunty angle just by the gangplank. Richie's motorcycle. The sight should have been reassuring, being as it was tangible evidence that the lad was already waiting at home safe and well. Except, it meant that if Dawson had been right about that, then he had probably been right about everything else Richie had been up to that day.

"I'm going to kill him." He muttered.

Alerted by the buzz Richie was standing ready to greet him the centre of the barge as he entered. Looking first at the Katana in his hand and then at the angry, determined expression on the Highlander's face he instinctively took a step back.

"Um, Mac. What are you doing?"

"You're a bright boy," Duncan smiled thinly. "You figure it out."

"Look Mac," Richie edged over towards his own sword feeling his fingers close over the hilt as the Highlander advanced. "I'm sorry that I ran out on you. But it was important."

"You gave me your word." Duncan reminded him as he brought the Katana down in a sweeping arc that Richie had to jump aside to avoid.

"I know," Mentally Richie rehearsed the distribution of the furniture as he backed carefully up, trying to keep the irate Highlander arm's or rather sword's length. He'd had enough experience of angry Scots to know that he was in deep trouble. True, the slice 'em and dice 'em and leave 'em for dead was more Connor's brand of discipline than Duncan's but the younger Macleod could also make his point when he chose. And breaking his word was a cardinal sin in his father's book. "And I'm sorry. Really. But like I said it was important."

Duncan's only answer was a grim faced look and a slice that narrowly missed his gut.

"Look Mac, c'mon, you don't wanna do this," Richie cajoled, sweeping his sword round in a blow intended to take Duncan's feet out from under him, so they could at least sit down and talk about this, only to duck wildly left as the Highlander counter attacked, leaving the Katana to sweep down through empty air and slice straight through a priceless mint vase.

"Oh man, not the vase," Richie slid over on his knees and frantically tried to put the pieces back together. "Tessa loves that vase."

The thin cold blade of the Katana on the back of his neck froze him in place, as Duncan leant down, bringing his mouth so close that Richie could feel the warmth of his breath on his ear.

"Is it worth your life?"

Richie moved hard and fast, using a low down dirty trick that Methos had taught him, to duck out from under the Katana with only a slight graze to the back of his neck.

"You talked to Joe," he realised. Which meant he was in way more trouble than he had thought. "Look Mac, it was no big deal. Ares wasn't even there .."

"No big deal?" The Highlander's ire at that statement drove him forward in a flurry of blows that rang around the barge as steel met steel. "What if he had been there? You're in no fit state to fight him. He would have killed you. Did you even stop to think about that?"

Richie didn't want to admit that his mentor was right. Didn't want to acknowledge that although his body was largely healed he still felt weak and shaky from the effects of the prolonged torture. Didn't want to accept that by exploiting all his weaknesses the Scot's actions were making his point more effectively than any words. And he knew that Mac was actually taking it easy on him. Ares would have had him on his knees in a hot second.

"Amanda was in danger," his own anger at the thought of the woman who has always been something of an elder sister, even before he knew they were related, lying in her own blood with her body battered and broken, fired his reserves as he sprung over the sofa and forced the Highlander back in his turn. "Tessa was all alone. What the hell did you expect me to do?"

"You should have called Connor or waited for me. What you don't do is you don't go off on your own."

Normally he would have seen it coming. He knew Mac's style as well as he knew his own and such was the love and trust between them that his Da had held nothing back. There was no skill that he himself had been taught which he had not shared with his son. But today had been anything but normal and he was running on pure emotion. In one swift stroke he was disarmed, his sword clattering uselessly across the floor as he came nose to nose with a verypissed Duncan Macleod.

"Your life is important too. Do ye hear me?"

"Like hell," Richie spat back. "What the hell does it matter what I do anyway?"

"What does it matter?" Duncan demanded incredulously. "What does it _matter_?"

He wanted to say that it mattered a great deal to him. That he cared enormously what happened to this gently, quirky, caring lad with the off-beat sense of humour and the big heart. But the flat, lost look in the lad's eyes made the words choke in his throat.

"Risteard?"

The soft Gaelic endearment came unbidden from some place deep in his soul, causing Richie to blink and focus on him with eyes wide and vulnerable. He softened his tone.

"It matters, Richie. Of course it matters."

"Does it?" Richie looked at him, openly questioning now. "Die now or die later? Its all the same isn't it?"

* * *

"Here," Duncan nudged Richie's hunched form to make room as he settled beside him on the couch and handed over one of the cups in his hand.

Richie lifted his head only slightly as he accepted the cup, peering over the edge with a faint grimace. "Tea?"

"Just drink it." Duncan ordered fondly.

"It doesn't have like roots or mud or anything in it does it?"

"Its Camomile."

"Leaves then." Richie looked sideways at him. "Who ever sat down and thought that was a good idea do you think? I mean, dead leaves stewed in hot water doesn't sound real appealing when you actually think about it."

"Then don't think about it."

"You sound like Methos."

"God forbid."

He watched as Richie turned the mug in his hands but made no move to drink it.

"I'm sorry, lad."

Richie's head came up sharply. "You're sorry? What have you got to be sorry for?"

"You miss your Da and I'm a pretty poor substitute."

"Mac, I hate to break it to you, but you're pretty much a carbon copy," He rubbed at the now healed graze on his neck. "I'm sorry too. I never meant to scare you."

Duncan shook his head. A stranger would have seen his anger. Connor would have recognised his sense of duty in caring for the Clan, Tessa could have looked beyond that to see the love driving his frustration. But few people would have looked on the furious Highlander and seen that he was in fact scared witless. He didn't do scared well.

And apparently he wasn't the only one.

"Richie, there's naught amiss in being afeard."

"Mac, I'm not scared," the lad turned to look at him, his eyes very bright and blue. "I'm absolutely terrified. The guy is centuries older than me, not to mention pretty nifty with a sword and the poster boy for evil. It's not the dying. I could cope with that. But if Ares takes me he'll take out all of you too."

"Then don't let him."

"Like its that simple."

"Rich, nothing about a sword fight is ever simple. You know that. Skill and experience are no guarantee of victory."

"So, the fate of the world depends on whether or not I get lucky?" He managed a rueful grin as he gave up on the tea and put it on the table. "You know, Mac if you'd been around when I first started dating you'd know that's not real comforting."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Alright, what if I win? You always taught me that good is stronger than evil. But I've been Immortal less than a century; Ares has been taking heads since before Methos was born. And Methos said his power overwhelmed _him_. That's gotta make him stronger than me, right? What if I win and his Quickening just wipes me out. You know, the whole overflowing cup thing? Its not like it hasn't happened before."

Duncan considered that. There was a risk in an Immortal as relatively young as Richie taking on an opponent as old and powerful as Ares. He'd always scoffed at the tales of Dark or Light Quickenings, where the collective essence in the murdered vessel had irrevocably changed the recipient.

But then he had met Darius.

"Maybe you're not supposed to take his head." He mused.

"Do you know any other way? Cos, I don't think Ares is just gonna walk away from this."

"Probably not," Duncan agreed. "I don't know Rich. I wish I did. Maybe this prophecy will show you what needs to be done when the time comes."

"And in the meantime?"

"Don't be so busy surviving you forget how to live." Duncan patted his leg.

"Graham Ashe." Richie nodded.

"That reminds me," Duncan put down his cup and uncoiled himself from the sofa as he went to look out the sword he had retrieved from storage. He passed Richie the leather scabbard with a shy smile. "I think this belongs to you."

"Mac," Almost by its own volition Richie's hand reached out and curled around the familiar hilt that had been his friend and companion and for so many years. "You don't need to give me this."

"I think," Duncan tipped his head on one side. "I already did."

They both laughed, filling the barge with a warm joyful sound that kept the darkness at bay, at least for now.

"You know," Richie grinned at him, his eyes dancing with laughter. "I think you'd make a pretty cool Dad. You just need a little more practice."

"Oh?" Duncan raised a brow. "Any suggestions?"

Richie looked at him as if weighing his request up against something else. Something intangible. Apparently he passed the test because he asked. "How would you feel about a little road trip?"

* * *

Following Richie's instructions Duncan drove out of Paris early the next morning into the open countryside passing a collection of small villages finally bouncing the Citroen down unmettled roads until brought the car to a halt and peered uncertainly out into the gathering dawn at the simple metal gates leading to what looked like nothing more than a few stands of trees.

"Are you sure this is the right place? Maybe we should have turned left instead of right at that last crossroads."

"Naw, this is the place," Richie was already getting out of the car. "We can walk from here."

"If you say so."

Following the blonde through the gate he noticed a subtle but telling shift in the atmosphere.

"This is Holy Ground."

"You noticed that huh?" Richie tossed over his shoulder as he kept on walking.

They followed the path through the thick woods as Duncan wondered without irritation why on earth they were there. If Richie wanted to admire the view they were only going to get the slightest glimpse through all these trees.

"Good morning."

The hooded and cowled figure that approached was something of a surprise. Richie spoke a few quiet words to him and he nodded standing aside, in invitation to continue.

"This is a monastery." Duncan realised as low stone buildings began to appear out of the woods, with the occasional figure going about its solitary business.

"Uh huh." Richie was clearly enjoying himself.

"We have these in Paris you know. We didn't need to come all the way out here." He fished.

"Funny, I said that the first time you bought me out here."

"You're not going to tell me anything are you?"

"It's a surprise."

The path wound its way upward through thick woodland, allowing only brief glimpses of the weak winter sun as it struggled its way over the horizon.

"Is that a river, I hear?" he cocked his head. The water sounded like it was running awfully fast.

"Kinda." Richie grinned expectantly as he stood aside.

Duncan's jaw dropped. To be sure it wasn't Angel Falls, or even Niagara, but the tall narrow gorge sent water rushing down in a thin column to a deep, clear pool below. It was absolutely beautiful.

"Richie," he asked warily, "What are we doing here?"

They climbed a little higher first, picking their way up through the rocks of the final feet of almost sheer face carefully. Duncan watched with some degree of pride as Richie scrambled up with the grace of a born athlete. Then they parcelled up clothes and shoes and lowered then down to the bank below on the gossamer thin wire that Richie produced from his jacket for the purpose.

"Ready?" Richie grinned over at him, alive with excitement and every nerve ending positively quivering with anticipation.

"Ready." Duncan was surprised at how eager he was. He had been careful these last twelve years, maybe too careful. Connor would say he was getting staid and predicable was a dangerous trait for Immortals.

"On three?" he asked.

Richie shrugged.

"One, two, .."

Richie flashed him a wicked grin and jumped.

"Hey!"

He jumped too, feeing the adrenalin rush as the wind few past and the ground rushed up, it was exhilarating, almost exactly like flying, he twisted in a somersault, once twice, three times, before uncurling into a smooth pike and entering the water with minimal displacement. His momentum carried him some way down into the clear, cold water, before he could strike upwards, breaking through the surface to take deep, rasping breathes and look around for Richie who was doing the same.

And grinning fit to burst.

It was too cold to stay in the water too long, so they quickly made for the shore, shrugging gratefully back into warm clothes, setting a small fire and falling hungrily upon the simple breakfast left in a wicker basket by one of the brothers.

"How did you know about this place? I've never been here before."

"When Tessa died," Richie plucked at the grass and wouldn't look at him. "At first I went a little nuts. Mac said it happens to a lot of new Immortals. At first he thought what I needed was familiarity, make things as normal as possible, so as soon as we'd buried her he took me back to Seacovuer. But after everything that happened with Annie Devlin, he changed his mind."

"She came after you?"

"Long story short?" Richie asked. He nodded. "Annie was trying to whack this mortal guy. Some politician. You and I stopped her. Only I waded in like Rambo and Annie's husband was killed. So yeah, she came for me."

"You still have your head."

Duncan assumed he had either talked Annie out of fighting or hidden him safe on Holy Ground until her ire had cooled and his skill grown. The lad would have to have been suicidal to take on so experienced an Immortal with so little training.

"I won," Richie shrugged. "I was lucky, damn lucky. And scared shitless. And part of me felt bad for her. I never meant to kill anyone. So, I spared her head and you persuaded her to let it go."

"A life for a life." Duncan agreed.

"Anyway," Richie risked a small glance in his direction. "After that you decided the last thing I needed was to just pick up my life like nothing had happened. You said I had to learn how to live again before I chose to face death. So, you took me to Europe. Man, we travelled all over. We were on our way home when we happened to come by this way. We stayed on Holy Ground a lot cos it was safer, you know? So, our last night I was raving about the things I'd seen and the people I'd met but you looked up at the waterfall and said you had one more thing to show me. The first time I did that I thought you were nuts, but it was kinda like being reborn."

"Immortality can be a pleasure as well as a burden." Duncan agreed. "We forget that sometimes."

Richie smiled softly at him across the camp fire and Duncan impulsively reached over and put him in a friendly headlock, rubbing his knuckled across the top of his blonde curls. This one was a real treasure and he would do everything in his power to see that he was safe. And Ares and his kind be dammed.

"Hey, Mac." He looked down at the head tucked under his arm to see Richie's bright blue eyes on him. "You okay?"

"Never better," he vowed truthfully.

"Good," Richie's smile broadened. "You want to do it again?"


	17. Richie

Reviews:

Supernatural Chick – Thanks for the review. Glad you are enjoying the story. Please let me know what you think of the next chapter.

Genna12001- Thanks for the kind words. Here's the next instalment. Hope you enjoy.

SC- OK so I lied when I said just a few more chapters. But I'm getting around to it. Almost there now.

Jamie – I love Mac/Richie stuff too – guess that's why I write it. I can't promise you real Mac just yet but I hope you like the twist.

Neoinean – I'm thinking that the battle between good and evil has not yet been truly won. So we've had some centuries where evil has had sway and some when good prevailed. But this battle should be the decider, if Richie can make the right choice.

And now on with the story.

* * *

Richie slept most of the way back, a deep peaceful sleep, without nightmares. As the rain began to beat down steadily Duncan turned on the air vents and cranked the heating up another notch. He glanced over in fond satisfaction when Richie didn't stir. He'd slept all through the previous night too. Perhaps they were beginning to put the nightmares of his treatment at Ares' hands to rest. He only roused, to scrub at his eyes and blink fuzzily around him, when the Citroen came to a full stop on the Quay.

"Feel better?" Duncan smiled at him.

"Yeah," Richie thought about it. "Much. I had a great time. Thanks Dad."

Duncan felt his heart skip a beat. This time there could be no mistake. The lad knew exactly what he was saying. He clenched his jaw together and looked away through the rain-streaked window. He wanted it. So much. But it wasn't fair on the man who'd raised him. It wasn't right. Still he couldn't look him in the eye when he said it.

"Richie. I'm not your father."

"Yeah, you are. You always have been."

"I wish I was," He turned so the lad could see the full strength of that longing in his eyes. "You make me feel complete. Who knows? Maybe I can be that person for this younger you. But you already have a Da," he shrugged awkwardly. "Somewhere."

"Mac, you're not listening to me. Look, back in the seventies, just before you came to Paris, you had a relationship with an Immortal woman named Rebecca Horne. Right?"

"Dawson tell you that?"

"Chill Big Guy. Joe's a Watcher. Not a voyeur. Actually, you were the one who told me. You even gave me her photo. But that's beside the point. The thing is Rebecca is my Mom. She raised me until I was five but then Ares killed her. Not permanently, but enough that she had to get out of dodge and so she never had the chance to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Duncan asked carefully.

Richie gave him a shy awkward smile. "It's a boy?"

Duncan gripped the steering wheel hard as he thought about the implications of what Richie had said. It wasn't possible. Immortals couldn't have children. And yet pre-immortals had to come from somewhere. And Rebecca _was_ an integral part of this prophecy. Could it be true? He needed to speak to Rebecca. Hadn't Methos said she was in Paris, right now?

Oh.

"Is that why you went to Dawson? To find Rebecca?"

"Joe didn't tell you?" Richie blinked. "Yeah. I hadn't seen her in a real long time."

Duncan's respect for the Watcher increased another notch. He'd told Duncan what was necessary to ensure he stayed safe. But in this matter of the lad looking for his mother he'd kept his own counsel.

"Me either," Duncan gave him a sideways look. "Not for about seventeen years as a matter of fact."

"Ah. About that," Richie shifted slightly awkwardly in his seat. "I kinda invited her for dinner."

* * *

Duncan found himself watching the lad as they made their way across the Quay. That hair could be Rebecca's. The line of his jaw was much like his own. That little tilt of his head so much like ..

"Duncan!"

His head came up sharply at Tessa's voice, his jaw dropping slightly open as she ran down the gang-plank and threw herself into his arms. Automatically, he moved to embrace her, savouring the feel of her in his arms and the soft scent of her hair, even after so short an absence. But he couldn't keep his reservations out of his kiss and Tessa felt them.

"It is alright," She smiled brightly in reassurance as she stroked his face. "Connor called and said it was safe to come home. Ares is no longer a danger to us."

"That's good," Even to his own ears the words, sounded hollow. He was confident enough that Connor would incapacitate Ares, for a time at least. But he hadn't expected to have to deal with Rebecca with Tessa looking on. He tried again. "That's great sweetheart." Her frown told him that she wasn't convinced. But she let the matter drop, for now.

"Welcome home, Tess." Richie leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Duncan glanced ironically away, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Apparently, Richie didn't see foresee the slightest problem in having both his 'mothers' around the same dinner table. He wasn't so sure.

"Don't I get a kiss?" Amanda pouted from the doorway.

"Of course." Richie responded with another peck on the cheek.

"Of course." Duncan muttered under his breath with a rueful nod. It stood to reason that if Tessa had returned Amanda would be close by, so three of his lovers would be sitting down to dinner with his possible son. Could his life get any more complicated?

For a moment Amanda ignored him as he stood there, uncertain how to greet her. Her eyes widening as she took in Richie's excited expression. "You found her, didn't you?" At his eager nod she embraced him. "Oh Richard, that's wonderful! Where is she? How is she? Oh it has been so long. You did tell her didn't you about Luther? We can't lose her like that. Not again."

"What is this?" Tessa asked.

Richie's explanation was simple and did a lot to spare Tessa's feelings, Duncan thought.

"I found my foster mother from when I was real small. The one who died? Except she's Immortal and you were right she doesn't blame me for anything. She's just sad she missed out on so much of my life. I was kinda hoping that if she could only see how great you guys are, then she wouldn't feel so bad."

"I would be honoured to meet her." Tessa assured him.

"You'll like her," Duncan blinked as Amanda patted Tessa's arm conspiratorially. "Rebecca is a wonderful person. She taught me everything I know."

To his astonishment Tessa laughed. "Then I am sure meeting her will be quite the education."

"Um," He looked from one to the other. "What's going on?"

"They found out they had a lot in common," Richie was grinning broadly. "Isn't that great?"

Duncan wasn't at all sure about that. And the twin looks of expectation on their faces as Amanda stepped forward for a kiss did nothing to ease his concerns. He aimed for her cheek, but Amanda turned her head at the last moment, so that the kiss landed squarely on her lips. But at least he managed to keep his mouth closed and his tongue firmly in his cheek.

Even so, Tessa was frowning when he stepped back, crossing her arms and tapping her foot in a show of displeasure.

His heart sank.

"Really Duncan. I should think you could manage something a little better than that when greeting your wife."

His jaw dropped.

* * *

Duncan was loath to burden Tessa any further. She had been so accepting of his apparent future relationship with Amanda. It seemed selfish to impose even more upon her goodwill. And it wasn't as if he had known her at the time. They wouldn't even meet in Paris until his relationship with Rebecca was well and truly over. Everything had been entirely above board, one of the many liaisons that he had had in the centuries before they were together.

So, why did he feel like he was hiding an infidelity?

Maybe because Rebecca had it seemed managed to give him the one thing he truly longed for and for which he knew Tessa's heart ached. A child of their love, his and hers bound together in the quirk of smile, the laughing of a rosebud mouth, a nose like his father's and his mother's eyes. So, in the end he did the only thing he could. He took her up on deck and told her everything.

"Do you think it can be true?" Tessa asked when he had finished. "Could he truly be your biological son?"

He wished he could see her face. But stood as she was, cradled against his chest, both of them looking out over the water, with his arms wrapped around her to ward off the afternoon chill, he had only her voice to guide him and it was expressionless.

"The timing fits. The dates fit. He does bear a certain resemblance. Beyond that I just don't know, sweetheart. I'm not even sure if paternity tests would work for Immortals."

"But in your heart you think he is your son." Tessa surmised.

"I want him to be," Duncan hedged. But she deserved the whole truth. "And yes, if I'm honest, I do feel a kind of connection to him. At first I just thought it was because he'd been raised as a Macleod, but now? He's so like I was at that age Tess its uncanny."

"So it is only mortals with whom you cannot have children."

"I'm so sorry, my love."

"You must not be," Tessa turned to face him. Her expression determined. "You must never be sorry that you brought such a wonderful young man into this world. Not even to save my feelings. Besides, if we had had children of our own, perhaps we would not have had room for him in our hearts. How can I value that which cannot be over the joy and love I see in his eyes each time he looks at me?"

"Thank you, sweetheart." Duncan buried his face in her hair, holding her close, and wondered yet again what he had ever done to deserve such a wonderful, warm, person in his life.

"Perhaps we should go and help with dinner," Tessa suggested. "Richie wants to make crème brulee and I do not wish him to burn down the barge."

* * *

Methos returned just in time to avoid most of the dinner preparations, bearing a box of beer, which he immediately broke up and began to stow in the fridge, before popping the top off the last remaining cold one and sprawling on the couch.

"Make yourself at home." Duncan said dryly, knocking his feet off the coffee table.

"I thought I said. It was my home once," Methos said reflectively. "For a couple of days. You gave it to me."

"The barge?" Duncan raised a sceptical brow.

"I needed a home and you needed my help. It was a mutually satisfactory arrangement."

"In other words you manipulated me."

"I just wanted to see if you were really serious about what you were getting yourself into," Methos eyed him thoughtfully over the top of his beer bottle. "He told you then."

It wasn't a question. Duncan wasn't sure he liked the idea of being so easy to read. But then he supposed it wasn't everyday that an Immortal found out he could be a father. He something was bound to show.

"Is it true?"

"Yes."

The simple word almost undid him. He sank down onto the couch, as waves of emotion, shock at the news, pleasure at the thought, anger that he had not known for all this time and fear. Was he truly equal to the task? He almost laughed. He wondered if all new fathers felt this way. But at least most of them had nine months to prepare.

"Would it help," Methos asked. "If I told you that Darius was my son?"

"He is?" Duncan blinked. "Does he know?"

"Ever since he was born," Methos nodded. "I was lucky."

"I think," Duncan glanced in the direction of the galley, where Richie could be heard bantering with Tessa and Amanda as they prepared dinner. "I'm pretty lucky myself."

"Hey Mac," Richie came bounding down the stairs, a fistful of silverware in hand. "Is Connor gonna be back for dinner? I mean, I can see his stuff," He nodded at the pile of parcels that had been offloaded onto the floor. "But does anyone know where he went?"

"He had some business to take care of," Duncan managed. He wasn't worried. Connor could take care of himself and besides, not even Ares could be a threat when he was dead. "I wouldn't wait dinner."

"Right."

Richie set about setting the table, checking that the cutlery glassware and chins were all exactly just so. Stepping back to admire his handy work he was surprised by a tap on his shoulder.

"What? Did I miss something?" He asked anxiously.

"No, I did," Duncan told him gruffly, as he turned him into a hard close hug. "About 105 years of my son's life to be exact."

"Maybe I should have asked Rebecca to bring some of my baby photos." Richie joked as he returned the hug.

"Don't worry," Methos called from behind them. "I already did."

* * *

Richie was nervous, Duncan realised. Not that there was anything in his outward behaviour to suggest it. Years of schooling his behaviour meant he was sprawled on the couch, the very picture of relaxation. But his eyes were bright and anxious, darting this way and that at every little sound.

"It'll be alright," Duncan patted his leg. "There's none here but those that love you."

"I'm being dumb, huh?" Richie gave him a sheepish smile.

"Naw, just human. I'm a little nervous myself. It's been a few years since I've seen her."

"Well, at least you don't gotta worry about having gone bald or gotten wrinkles." Richie grinned.

"True." Duncan laughed.

"She's here!" Amanda announced joyfully opening the door to reveal Rebecca, wrapped against the cold in a soft, black wool coat. To her great disgust Amanda felt her expression falter as the emotion over whelmed her and she felt the tears well up in her eyes and close her throat.

"Dearest Amanda." Rebecca simply opened her arms and gathered her in, letting her sniff disconsolately against her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Amanda hiccupped. "Its just .. I'm so happy to see you."

"And I you," Rebecca gently pulled back, to wipe away Amanda's tears and kiss her gently on the forehead. "I'm sorry my love. Your path was always going to be a hard one but you were never supposed to forge it all alone."

"None of us were," Methos put in, taking Rebecca's coat from her shoulders. "Some wine my Lady?"

"There's some Merlot," Richie put in. "You like that, right?"

"Its my favourite," Rebecca assured him as she crossed the room to plant a light kiss on his cheek. "My baby boy.."

"Aw man," Richie grinned as if he was loving every minute of this. "Do parents have to be embarrassing? Is it in the manual or something?"

"There's a manual?" Duncan tousled his hair. "Why didn't anyone tell me this?"

"In case it gave you ideas." Richie laughed, as headed off towards the kitchen for the wine.

"You seem to have done well enough without it," Rebecca smiled. "Our son is a very fine young man."

"Yes, he is. Although, it wasn't exactly my doing."

"You're angry with me, of course," Rebecca sighed. "I'm sorry Duncan. You were always supposed to know about him."

Duncan's words of recrimination died in his throat at the deep loss in Rebecca's eyes. As hard as it was for him not to have known of Richie's existence or how he was suffering, how much more difficult must it have been for Rebecca to give up her son to the Prophecy knowing the pain that it would cause them both.

"You did what you thought was best." He allowed.

"It must have been very hard for you." Tessa put in softly.

"Sorry," Duncan apologised and slipped his arm around her shoulders as he drew the Frenchwoman forward to be introduced. "Rebecca, this is Tessa. Tess, this is Rebecca Horne."

"I'm so pleased to meet you. I wanted to .." Rebecca trailed to a halt as all the Immortals present felt the familiar thrum of another of their kind.

"Its probably just Connor." Richie said as he bounded down the stairs, offered Rebecca her wine with a little bow and peered out of the porthole for a closer look. And all the colour drained from his face.

"Richie?" Methos moved to stand behind him, looking in his turn through the pothole. "Oh bugger."

"Is it Ares?" Duncan asked, his anxiety rising.

"No its Darius," Methos said slowly. "And he's brought a friend."

They all watched as Darius opened the door and encouraged his companion to enter. After a moment the smaller figure followed reluctantly, his eyes darting left and right, like a cornered animal, his hands thrust defensively in his pockets, one of which was curled defensively around something thin and flat, like a flick knife. He was shorter than Duncan had expected, thinner too, all skin and bone where muscle should be, but the bright blue eyes and the shock of curls were unmistakable.

"Richie." He breathed.


	18. Repast

AN – Many thanks for all the reviews. Please scroll to the end for replies.

* * *

At the sound of Duncan's voice, the boy's head came up sharply, his eyes widening with surprise, as he drank in the sight before him.

"Mac?" he whispered, as if he didn't quite believe it.

Then he grinned, a mega watt smile of pure delight that lit up his whole face and banished every last ounce of fear and uncertainty from his body language.

"Mac!"

In an instance he was across the room and had thrown himself into Duncan's arms, hugging him so fiercely that he could almost feel the breath being squeezed out of him, as he instinctively wrapped his own arms around the thin shoulders to keep the teenage whirlwind on his feet.

"Oh man. I didn't think it could be true. I mean, I know you said it would be OK, but there was so many of them and only one of you and there was all that blood. I mean, you gotta admit it looked pretty bad for a while there big guy, I mean, those dudes weren't kidding around and you sure as hell looked dead. Oh shit," He pulled back. "I'm not hurting you am I? I mean you didn't have to have stitches or surgery or anything did you?"

"You saw me die?" Duncan's chest tightened.

"Well, yeah. Except not, obviously," Richie grinned. "It was all an act like you said, right?"

Behind him Duncan heard the muffled thud of a chair being pushed roughly aside as a pair of hi tops thudded their way across the wooden floor and out up onto the deck. Catching only a brief glimpse of the back of well worn leather jacket making its hasty exit the boy frowned.

"What's eating him?"

"Its nothing." Duncan reassured him, his eyes lingering on the slammed door.

"I'll go."

Methos clipped tones made the decision for him. With a sigh Duncan turned his attention back to the problem in hand. Richie looked tired, as if from a long journey, but his clothes were new and fairly clean, his hair recently cut and his shoes an expensive pair of running shoes. Someone had been taking care of him. He looked his question at Darius.

"I know no more than you my friend," the priest shook his head. "I went to say mass as usual and when I returned he was waiting for me. He says he has a message for you. That was all he would say."

"Richie?"

"Hey, I'm here now," Richie shrugged. "So, everything's cool right? I mean you were the one who told it to me. It was just a way to make sure Father Brown over there brought me to the right place. And here I am. Its not like I gotta actually give you the message or anything."

"It isn't in English, is it?" Duncan realised. He wondered what it was he hadn't wanted the boy to know.

"Hey, I can remember it. I can. Its not like you didn't make me say it about two zillon times," Richie protested. "Its just, I thought you were dead, y'know. That sorta thing tends to be pretty distracting."

"I'm sure. Just tell us what you remember Rich. We can work the rest out."

"Kay," Richie frowned in concentration. "Um. OK. I got it."

Duncan listened closely as Richie carefully recited the Gaelic phrases he had been taught, looking up to meet Rebecca's eyes in concern.

"What?" Richie looked from one to the other. "Did I remember it wrong?"

"No, you did just fine, Tough Guy. So, you hungry?"

"I dunno," Richietilted his head sideways."This is France, right? You're not gonna make me eat frogs or snails or anything are you?"

"No," Duncan couldn't resist. "Well, at least not right away."

* * *

Methos knew he had to move fast. In his current mood Richie was liable to get on his bike and just keep right on going. Briefly he debated pulling the Citroen into his path, but Richie would probably just ride right over him. Looking swiftly left and right he decided to take his chances. Slipping the gun out of his pocket he attached its silencer and deftly shot out first one tyre and then the other before Richie had kicked the stand up.

The look he received in return was _not_ friendly.

"Richie wait."

He ran quickly to catch up with the younger man who was already striding purposefully away. Richie didn't slow, pausing only to throw a few choice expletives over his shoulder. Methos winced. When he started swearing in Polish, things were very bad indeed.

"Wait! You can't run from this," he spoke vehemently, grasping his arm in a grip fierce enough to leave bruises and turned him bodily to face him. "Where ever you go you'll take it with you."

"Oh I'm all done with running," Richie eyes burned with fury. " I'm gonna find Ares and I'm gonna take his head just like his goons did Mac's."

"You don't know that's what happened."

"Yeah, right. Like Mac would ever disappear to parts unknown and leave mini me behind. Now either shoot me or let me go. I don't have time for this."

"Alright, have it your way," Methos decided loosing his grip. "Go."

Set free Richie hesitated. Opened his mouth to speak. Closed it. Began to walk away. Two paces. Three. Then stopped. The Ancient Immortal never gave in this easily. Not ever. Not unless he was up to something. He turned on his heel.

"You know something, don't you?"

Methos eschewed the obvious answer. He did indeed know many things. One of which was that now was not the time for sarcasm. _Everything_ depended on his coaxing Richie safely back into the barge.

"I know Ares won't care which one of you he faces."

"He won't challenge the kid," Richie shook his head in denial. "He's not even Immortal yet."

"That can easily be fixed."

"No way. Its not supposed to happen like that. I mean if Ares could have made my butt Immortal back then he woulda, right?"

"Except that was then and this is now."

Richie thought about that. When he was growing up he had been protected because certain events had to take place before the final battle could legitimately be joined. Except this time around all the conditions _had _been satisfied. Which meant his younger self was fair game.

"Oh buggar." He realised.

"I couldn't have said it better myself." Methos agreed.

"So," Richie shoved his hands in his pockets in defeat. "What do we do?"

"Well," Methos considered "I do have an idea."

"Of course," Richie sighed, as he fell into step beside him. "I'm so gonna hate this aren't I?"

"Probably."

* * *

They went back in via the door behind the wheel house to save Richie from coming face to face with his younger self, at least until they had decided exactly what to tell him. Leaving Darius to distract the boy with a game of chess, the others crowded into the small galley, where Methos outlined his plan.

"You want to tell him _what_?" Duncan demanded, as he gave the bubbling pasta one last stir and pulled the plates out from theoven, where they were warming.

"It does make a certain amount of sense," Rebecca admitted reluctantly. "What else are we going to tell him?"

"I don't know. The truth?"

"Oh yes, that will work." Methos wasn't agreeing.

"And you think this will?" Duncan poured the pasta into the waiting colander and shook it rather more vigorously than was strictly necessary. "That they are_ twins_?"

"They look alike." Methos defended his idea.

"Apart from him being twenty pound heavier and about ninety years older."

"Richie was only 19 when he died. He hasn't changed that much. Its not like he got any taller."

As he ladled the pasta out onto the plates Duncan shot a look at Richie. He was leaning up against the wall, somehow managing to be entirely separate from the conversation, despite the cramped space.

"Rich?"

The pale blue eyes came to rest on him without a hint of surprise. _So, he was paying attention then._

"What do you think?"

"You cannot surely think he should be seventeen again?" Tessa shook her head.

"I'd forgotten how skinny he was when we first met," Amanda murmured. "He looks so thin."

"He doesn't know who I am." Rebecca noted sadly.

"He doesn't recognise your face," Richie's quiet voice corrected. "He doesn't remember what you looked like. As soon as you talk he'll know."

"And Methos?" Rebecca asked.

Duncan ducked his head and busied himself with spooning the pasta sauce onto the plates of spaghetti not wishing to make Methos more uncomfortable then he doubtless already was. As far as he could gather from Amanda, Richie had had scant memories of his elusive foster father. Had thought he was a spy or some such. And hadn't recognised "Jack Ryan" in the man he had met in the Dojo.

"Perhaps you should show him the stuffed horse." Rebecca looked at Methos with an arched look that suggested they'd had this conversation many times before.

"Or you could try telling him your name." Amanda put in. "That usually helps people work out who you are."

"How many more times?" Methos defended his earlier actions. "If I could have told him back then I would."

At the time Richie had only had a scant three years to know and trust the Highlander. He had been afraid that if he had revealed himself as 'Jack Ryan' it would have put an intolerable strain on that relationship. Not to mention that the Scot would have been flat out furious if he'd discovered that he'd abandoned the child to social services. Besides the prophecy had forbidden it.

"But you could tell him now." Richie murmured.

* * *

Duncan listened with half an ear to Richie's tearful reunion with Rebecca. As soon as she had whispered his name his eyes had widened and he had fallen into her arms, laughing and crying and wiping his nose on his sleeve, as she wrapped him in her arms. He watched Methos, impressed by the man's gentle humour as he teased Richie with memories of his five-year-old antics. Only to see the teenage hormones return in full force when the boy was introduced to Amanda as his sister.

"Are you sure you're OK with this?" he murmured.

For all it was his plan to send his younger self off with his first family Richie looked far from alright. His face was much too pale and the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth showed a strain that he was struggling to hide. Duncan could only imagine how he must feel as he watched his seventeen-year-old alter ego enjoy the family reunion he had no doubted dreamed of all his young life.

"Yeah," He swallowed. "It makes sense, right?"

"It was a good idea," Duncan affirmed. "He'll be safe enough at the manor and he'll be much happier with his mother there to take care of him."

"You could have gone too," Richie gave him a sideways look.

"My family is right here." Duncan affirmed, wrapping his arm firmly around Richie's shoulders. Lord knows the others were more than capable of looking after the teen. Someone had to stand by his lad.

"Tessa probably wouldn't be too keen on you shacking up with Rebecca and Amanda, huh?" Richie grinned.

"That's not why I'm staying." Duncan said so firmly that Richie couldn't help but smile as a soft pink blush of pleasure rose in his face.

"Well, thanks Mac. That means a whole lot to me." Looking rather more positive he grimaced at the piles of congealing pasta still scattered around the little galley. "I guess dinner is a bust?"

"Doesn't matter," Duncan rolled his sleeves up and started to scrape the plates into the trash. "I wasn't going to leave you skulking in back whilst we were all eating your dinner. Rebecca said they'll stop somewhere on the way home." A thought occurred to him. "Has Methos ever been to MacDonald's?"

"There's always a first time." Richie grinned.

"Tell you what. Why don't we leave all this and go out ourselves?"

"You want to take Tessa to MacDonalds?"

"Actually, I was thinking we could go to Georgio's," The Michelin starred restaurant was expensive even by his standards. It was also his and Tessa's favourite place for very special occasion dinners. If the lad had lived with them in Paris Duncan was pretty sure the lad would understand the gesture. There might be difficult times ahead it would do them no harm to build up a few good memories.

"The condemned man ate a hearty meal, huh?" Richie gave him a look that suggested he wasn't quite as sanguine about the forthcoming battle with Ares as he might wish the world to believe.

"Death can touch us at any of us at any time Rich," Duncan counselled. "Ares isn't immune to that either. And you have the best advantage."

"Mac, if you're gonna tell me that good is stronger than evil, please don't." Richie cut him off his voice strained. He always used to believe that. At the beginning he hadn't thought one of the good guys could lose. But then Darius had died, Fitzcairn and Rebecca, so many good people.

The soft warm hand on his neck rubbing his neck in a familiar caress was more reassurance than mere words.

"You have too much to lose my lad."

Richie swallowed hard. He remembered Duncan saying almost exactly the same thing to him that first night in Paris, when he had asked him how he had beaten an Immortal as old and experienced as Grayson. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he'd felt bad for even asking but Duncan had just tousled his hair and looked at him with love in his eyes and said he had had too much to lose.

Well if it was good enough for Mac then it was sure as hell good enough for him.

Maybe he could do this after all.

* * *

It had been Duncan reflected as he loosen his bow tie and poured himself a nightcap in the salon, listening to Richie and Tessa bicker as she waited for her bath to fill, one of the really good evenings, full of joy and laughter. It was strange he'd only known Richie a short time. Already he couldn't imagine their lives without him.

God willing he'd never have to.

"Keep me company?" he offered as he 'felt' Richie come down the steps behind him. "Tessa will be in the bath for ages."

"Sure," Richie grinned at him as he loosened his own tie, kicked off his shoes and fell onto the couch. "Man, I'm so stuffed. I haven't had one of their steak au poivre in the longest time."

"You liked that huh?" Duncan smiled as he passed him a drink and settled beside him.

"Better than what I had the first time you took me there," Richie grinned at the memory. "There I was all American boy out to make a good impression in front of all the fancy French folks. And scared stupid that I was gonna accidentally order something really gross like horse. So, I picked the first thing I recognised off the menu. Or at least I thought I recognised it."

"Oh no," Duncan laughed. "Tell me you didn't order steak tartare?"

"How was I to know it wasn't cooked?" Richie shook his head. "And you made me eat it."

"The whole thing?"

"Well, a whole mouthful at least. But you let me order something decent afterwards."

"I probably didn't think you would touch it." Duncan admitted. "Although Immortals can't afford to be squeamish. We've all had to learn to live outside your own mores and customs."

"Never know when the local delicacy might turn out to be stuffed sheep's stomach?" Richie raised a brow.

"Touche" Duncan saluted him with his glass.

"I had a great evening. Thanks Mac."

"You're welcome."

"Actually," Richie hopped up. "Is this a good time? Cos I have something fro you. But I wasn't sure. Its not like I can just give it to you."

"Is this another present from my other self?"

"Why what else did you get?" Richie asked, digging around in the parcels Connor had brought back to locate a small leather pouch. "Ah gotcha."

"A message." Duncan paused to let that sink in.

"Oh?" Richie turned to face him, his eyes dark with concern. "What kind of message?"

"He wanted me to give you the Katana."

* * *

And now re the reviews! 

LoMaRiBa – Hum sorry, not exactly soon I know, what can I say, my brain got stuck! But definitely more. Hope you enjoy.

Supernatural Chick – Thank you so much for your kind comments. I just try to write what I know I like reading. I'd love to get published if only I had more time to write. Happily fanfiction doesn't have any deadlines! But its great to know other people enjoy it. There will be interaction between the Richies although not just yet. As to how to tell them apart – I do have a plan. And other Duncan will show up sooner or later.

SC – I never said they were actually gonna **eat** dinner. Grins. Forgive me? After all I haven't hardly hurt Richie at all in this chapter. Either of them.

Jodi – Thanks for the review. Knowing people are waiting to read always encourages me to write more. Not necessarily faster but more! Hope you enjoy the next instalment.

Klingbohne – Welcome to my world and thanks for taking the time to review. It really is much appreciated. And I'm thrilled to convert someone to liking Richie more! You're right I do love to hurt him but only so I can make things all better.

Jamie – Sorry, sorry, sorry, I know I'm leaving you hanging again, I hope Mac's return will be worth the wait. Meanwhile enjoy the next chapter.

Sarai – Thanks for your loyal reviewing, it really makes my day. Hope this chapter id a bit clearer for you. Any questions please e-mail me. I'm happy to discuss story ideas.

Neoinean – Glad you like twist and clifffe. I like to keep people's attention. Such a long story. Wouldn't want people getting bored. Darius as Duncan's Dad and thus Methos grandson was in the plague – but of course this Mac hasn't made the connection as he doesn't know Darius is his Dad (yet). And Richie will interaction with Richie. No imploding universe, but some fireworks I think, and as for the chapter title. I'm using it in your honour (and because it saves me having to think of another R word for a bit!)


	19. Road Trip

AN – Thanks for the reviews. Hadn't meant to update this yet, nor is this the outline of the chapter I planned to write next, but somehow things always take less time in my head than they do on paper, so more than two chapters to go then.

* * *

"Aw damn," Richie shook his head in fond exasperation as he perched on the arm of the chair to look Macleod in the eye. "Look Mac, its nothing. He's just trying to look out for me is all."

"Something wrong with Ashe's sword?" Duncan asked mildly.

"No, not at all. Its great, more than great, don't worry about it. Everything's cool."

Duncan doubted that. His other self had been pretty insistent. But if he pressed Richie would more than likely just get stubborn about it. So he simply raised a brow.

"Look, you were kinda freaked out about me going up against Ares," Richie shrugged. "You gave me the Katana so when I faced him I wouldn't feel like I was all alone. But its cool. You don't gotta. Or at least not for another few decades." He joked weakly.

Duncan swallowed hard. He could imagine all too well the tumult of emotion that had engendered such a peerless gift. He hoped it had given Richie the strength he had obviously needed. And would yet need.

"What became of it?" he asked, praying it had not fallen into Ares' hands.

"I still have it. Its just time travel's not exactly like getting on a plane with your duty free and souvenir T-shirt," Richie explained. "There's a whole bunch of things that won't pass through the gate. We still don't really understand it. We've experimented with making gizmos outta all sorts. But the bottom line seems to be that anything that more or less retains its natural form, like gold, silver, wool, leather and the like are OK. Other stuff is just left behind on the grid."

"Not a good idea to wear your polyester pants?"

"Not even if it is the 1970's."

"So, you really didn't have a sword when you faced Ares?"

"I was a little pressed for time," Richie reminded him. "Sometimes, we make stuff when we get here. But usually its just easier to take whatever we need from one of Methos' secret stashes. He's never trusted banks with his real wealth."

"That kind of fortune can be hard to explain when you're trying to pass as ordinary." Duncan agreed.

Suddenly Richie's eyes widened.

"Oh man, of course, that's it!" He grinned excitedly. "Think about it Mac. Where would be the one place on earth that no-one would give you a second glance because they _expect_ to see you there?"

"You think your Da's in Paris?" Duncan sat up.

"It would work. The Watcher's won't take any notice of what he's doing, cos they'll think Joe is on his case. He can keep outta Ares' way, cos Ares isn't going to go ducking down dark alleys looking for any old challenge. Not at this stage in the Game. And this way he can keep an eye on me," Richie gave a rueful grin. "How else did he know I was here?"

"I don't know. Maybe because he knows you?" Duncan offered dryly.

Even on such a limited acquaintance Duncan knew better than to think Richie would stay behind simply because he had been told to. He couldn't blame him. He had been much the same as a lad.

"_Mac_."

"Alright, I agree its something I _might_ do. If I'd thought of it," Duncan held up a hand to forestall, Richie's whoop of exhilaration. "Hold on. What about that sighting of him in New York?"

"You hate air travel Mac," Richie was almost fizzing with excitement. "Every time we flew to Paris from Seacouver you always insisted on having at least a couple of hours layover in JFK so you could stretch your legs."

"So he picked the boy up in Seacouver and brought him to Paris," Duncan nodded. That would tie in with what Darius had said about losing track of the teenager. "Then what? There's been no sighting of the lad. Where have they been all this time?"

"If this was Seacouver you woulda taken him to the Island," Richie shrugged. "Here, I don't know."

Duncan thought for a moment. "I might."

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Duncan muttered as he peered through the rain-streaked windscreen, carefully taking the corner at an almost crawl as he scowled at the road atlas. "It's the middle of the night."

"Just think of it as a really early morning," Richie advised. "You always loved early mornings. Here give me that." He took the atlas and peered at them in his turn. "Left here."

"Here?" Duncan shook his head. "No can do. That's a one way street."

"So?"

"So, its against the law."

"Look you said you hadn't been out here in a while. I still say we should just ring the kid and ask him where he was."

"You want to wake Rebecca so we can follow the directions of a seventeen year old who has never been out of Seacouver before and doesn't speak a word of French?"

"Hey, I could speak plenty of French when I was seventeen."

"Cursing doesn't count," Duncan frowned as he encountered yet another new road. "It's only been fifty years. Don't they have anything better to spend money on?"

They drove for about twenty minutes, sometimes having to go back on themselves as Duncan tried to reconcile where he knew he was heading with the network of modern roads and one way systems that had sprung up in the intervening years. At last he hit familiar roads and shortly afterwards turned into the courtyard and stopped the car.

"This is the place?" Richie looked doubtfully at the palatial surroundings. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," Duncan got out of the car and waited for Richie to come around to join him. "I never brought you here?"

"I think I would have remembered." Richie turned slowly in the courtyard looking at the elaborate architecture looming upwards in the pale moonlight.

"Well, I was thinking of selling it," Duncan shrugged, digging in his pocket and pulling out a flashlight. "It was a Hotel until about a year ago and a nursing home before that. But its getting harder and harder for the management company to find tenants for me. The upkeep on these estates is getting out of hand. Maybe I went ahead and sold it."

"Hang on. You _own _this?"

"I thought it would impress the ladies." Duncan gave him a rankish grin, letting a little of his accent slip through.

"Oh I'd say." Richie agreed.

"It's a bit of white elephant really," Duncan walked up the steps and plucked a key from behind a large stone lion. "At the time I was spending a lot of time at court, going to the Opera, having dinner with the German Ambassador. I don't think I've ever used more than half the rooms." He opened the door and stepped in.

"You don't think you should, I don't know, knock or something?"

"No-one's ever beheaded themselves before." Duncan peered into the gloom.

"Yeah, well," from the bottom of the steps Richie scowled at his retreating back. "You could be the first."

* * *

Duncan watched as Richie sifted through the tell tale signs of recent occupancy, a sprinkling of fresh ashes in bottom of the grate, rooms swept out, water from the well pumped into the large metal tanks in the kitchen, the generator oiled and serviced and ready to flick into life as soon as the switch was thrown.

"Why here, Mac?" Richie asked looking out the kitchen window across the fields rather than at him. "Why come here? Why not stay with Darius? Or Rebecca? What's so special about this place?"

Duncan pressed his lips together. He'd been asking himself the same question. Holy Ground wasn't exactly hard to come by in Paris and its environs. It was clear he hadn't wanted his friends to find him. Ashamed of his foppery he'd never told Connor about this place and the one time he'd brought Amanda here he'd told her it belonged to a friend. And Fitzcairn had been more than happy to play Lord of the Manor at his expense. Great expense as he recalled.

So, why had he come here? There was an answer. But Duncan wasn't at all sure he liked it.

"Come with me."

He strode quickly across the courtyard with his heart in his mouth, feeling dread settle in his stomach when he found the old lock replaced with a shiny new pad lock, deftly picking the lock he took the well worn steps two at a time, wanting to see and yet dreading when he might find as he clicked on the lights.

"Oh my God." Richie's voice breathed over his shoulder.

As well it might. The room running the length of the stables had always been off limits to any tenants. With ceilings as high as a cathedral and was almost as long it was an excellent workout space. Back in the days when he had felt the need to be flashy about such things he had stocked it with the best equipment seventeenth century money could buy, although the punching bag and the bench press looked to be more recent additions.

"Well, I guess that explains what they've been doing." He offered.

"No way," Richie shook his head. "No freaking way. Do you have any idea how many times I asked you? Begged you to teach me to use a sword? Too dangerous you said. Swords aren't toys you said. Ask me when you're twenty-one. Twenty-one. Not _seventeen_."

Duncan was about to reply when he caught sight of something glinting on the floor by his foot, bending over to pick it up he frowned at the gold signet ring. He quickly slipped it into his pocket before the lad could see.

"Mac."

Turning Duncan saw that Richie had been distracted by a find of his own. In a far corner of the room, behind a pile of mats was a largish dark stain that could only have been made by one thing. Blood.

* * *

It was almost dawn by the time they made their weary way back across the courtyard to the waiting car. Duncan had raised no protests when Richie had insisted on searching out cloths and buckets and boiling water to scrub ineffectually at the well soaked in blood stain before they left. Nor when he wanted to search the surrounding area. Just in case.

"It needs lemon juice," Richie fretted. "That's what you always had me use on the Dojo floor."

"Its fine, Rich. Don't worry about it."

"The kid said there was a lot of blood," Richie shook his head. "Man, was he right. That had to hurt."

"At least you know he's alive."

There had thankfully been no sign of a Quickening. Not to mention the fact that Duncan seriously doubted Ares' goons would have stayed behind to turn off the generator, sweep out the grates and generally square things away. Not if they'd just killed a man. His attempt at comfort fell flat however, as Richie looked away.

"So, where is he?" he spoke quietly. "Why doesn't he just come home?"

"I don't know Rich."

"I'm sorry Mac," Richie ran a hand over his face and through his face. "This was a bad idea. I should never have dragged you all the way out here."

"C'mon," Duncan walked around the car. "Let's go."

They drove for a few miles retracing their outward journey, with Richie staring morosely out of the window until Duncan came to a crossroads and turned left away from Paris. He sat up a little straighter and looked at the Immortal with evident suspicion.

"Mac, what are you doing?"

"Going to call on an old friend." Duncan tried to affect an air of innocence, but he'd warrant the lad knew him too well. Sure enough, Richie's next words were laced with sarcasam.

"You don't think it's a little early in the morning for company?"

"Knowing Fitz he probably hasn't even been to bed yet. Besides I'm not going to take no for an answer."

"Fitzcairn?" Richie blinked. "Alright, I'll bite. What's going on?"

"When you were seventeen, do you think you could have made it from here to St Julian's in the centre of Paris on your own without getting lost?"

"From here?" Richie looked around at the maze of fields. "Mac, before I met you I thought a park was a pretty scary wilderness."

"I'll take that as a no."

"I got lost in a garden centre once." Richie agreed.

"So you had help," Duncan turned the Citroen off the road onto the long tree lined driveway of another equally impressive house. "Someone you had got to know. Someone you trusted enough to go with. Someone I trusted enough to protect you."

"Fitz?"

"Maybe." He pulled the car up in front of the house and put on the handbrake. "Stay here." Richie gave him a look that told him he had probably said those exact words rather too often in the past. He softened his tone. "Look, I just want to find out what's been going on. That will be easier if he doesn't see you. Just stay in the car. Please?"

"Alright." Richie nodded softly.

"Thank you."

He strode towards the house, letting his Quickening announce his presence. Sure enough, before he had even reached the door, Fitzcairn was poking his head anxiously around the door in a state of undress that suggested he had possibly been in bed after all, if not actually sleeping.

"Duncan, laddie," Fitzcairn greeted him expansively, no doubt grateful not to have to fight a challenge in nothing more than his shirt. "What brings you here at this hour?"

"Lost something?" Duncan held up the signet ring.

"You found it!" Fizcairn accepted the ring with a beam of delight, holding it up as if to admire it afresh. "Well that's just capital. It was a gift from the Duchess of Savoy in recognition of my service. Very personal service if you get my drift."

Duncan nodded. "We need to talk."

"Anytime," Fitzcairn nodded. "Of course. Goes without saying. Except could you come back in an hour or so? I'm a little busy right now." He went to close the door.

Duncan blocked it with his foot. "I'll sure she'll understand."

"Well then, I suppose you'd better come in. And bring yon laddie," he gestured towards the car. "We can finish that card game that was so rudely interrupted. Although, I thought after that little spot of bother you might have left him with Darius. Best place for him really, Holy Ground and all that."

"Rich." Duncan called.

He watched Fitzcairn's beaming expression begin to falter as Richie jogged over. Gradually he took in the broader shoulders, the greater musculature and the innate grace that came from being a consummate swordsman.

"Oh Lord. You're the other one, aren't you?"

Duncan gave a thin smile as he tapped him on the shoulder to ensure he had his full attention.

"Actually, we both are."


	20. Return

AN – Sorry about the delay. RL is _very_, very, busy right now. But I'll update when I can.

Sarai – Glad you liked. The ending seemed too good an opportunity to miss.

Supernatural Chick - Thanks for the kind words. This is overall a pretty dark story, being the Gathering and all, but its also a story about the power of dark and light so you need to balance out the two a bit. Sorry, no more Fitz yet. But you will get other Richie and other Duncan very soon.

Tammi – Thanks for the review. You'll probably have more questions before this is all over, but hopefully this chapter will answer some of them.

Neoinean – I was just watching a documentary on the making of Live Aid last night and they showed Roger Daltery performing back then. Boy he looked so young!

Klingbohne – Well, you have your wish. Future Mac isn't dead. Well, not yet. (Grins) Thanks for reading.

SC – Hey, thanks as ever. Hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Ivy – Thanks for your comments. I quite like the idea of weaving everyone into the gathering. You get Connor in this chapter and next chapter .. well what can I say? Its gonna be crowded!

* * *

On a better day the drive back to Paris might even have been called scenic. In the summer tourists gladly escaped the heat and traffic of the city to meander along its narrow lanes, taking in the historic chateaus and picturesque villages. The smooth glassy river that made its way through the small valley to their right was a staple of the guidebooks for its clear blue sparkling waters dotted with little sailing ships.

Today it just looked grey and flat under the oppressively dark sky.

Which rather matched the mood.

For the third time in as many minutes Duncan took his eyes off the road to look over at Richie, who continued to stare out of the window at nothing. Once he was more suitably attired in jeans and sports jacket, Fitz had been happy to despatch his lady friend back to her husband and play the genial host. Which had pretty much entailed sitting back while Duncan cooked breakfast for them all. Not that Richie had eaten much. And now he hadn't moved or spoken since they had left the Chateau.

"You alright?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

"When were you going to tell me?"

Duncan ignored the sudden lurch in his chest. The lad didn't know. He couldn't.

"Tell you what?"

"Fitz thought he was taking mini me to Holy Ground," Richie's tone was much too calm. "He figured he was leaving me with Darius until you could collect me. Something made Darius take me to the barge. Why do you think he did that Mac?"

"Richie."

"I'll tell you why shall I?" Richie turned to look at him, his eyes burning with intensity. "Because you realised you weren't coming back. Because you knew you wouldn't be around to protect me. And there is no-one, not Connor, not Methos, not even Amanda, who you would trust to take care of me as well as you could do it. You made sure I would only deliver that message to you and no-one else. So, again Macleod, when were you going to tell me you were dead?"

"Your Da's not dead."

"Stop the car."

"Richie, no. We have to talk about this."

Before Duncan could react Richie simply unhitched his seatbelt and opened the door rolling out of the speeding car and down the bank. Swearing profusely in Gaelic Duncan brought the car to a shuddering halt and tearing open his open door scrambled down the bank in his turn, desperate to catch the young Immortal.

"Richie, wait!"

Managing to catch the heel of one foot as Richie rolled to a stop, in the next instant he was reeling as Richie kicked him hard in the face, causing red blood to blossom from his now broken nose. Looking stupidly at the odd shoe he was holding, he took a second to swipe his sleeve across his face to mop up the worst of the blood, before taking off after the younger Immortal.

Who was making his way back up the bank towards the empty car.

"Oh no, you don't."

Determined not to be left stranded out here in the countryside Duncan sprinted up the hill, his longer stride giving him sufficient advantage to just catch the sleeve of Richie's leather jacket as he leapt into the driving seat. Yanking hard, Duncan pulled the blonde out of the car and straddled his prone body, effectively pinning him in place.

"Richie, will you just listen to me?"

Only then did he see how the lad's face was screwed up in anguish, the cuts and bruises from his fall out of the car nothing compared to the pain in his soul as the tears coursed down his cheeks.

"What?" He yelled, twisting in his mentors grasp. "So you can lie to me some more? If you weren't dead you would have come back by now. You wouldn't just have left me like this."

"Richie, lad. I swear, he's not dead," There was nothing for it but the truth. "But he's not entirely well either."

* * *

Duncan reached a bottle of water out of the trunk and walked back round to slide into the driver's seat beside his rapidly healing passenger who sat with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, resolutely ignoring the little blue flashes of light that fizzed and tingled around his body.

"Here." Duncan nudged him.

Opening one eye Richie accepted the water, unscrewing the top and taking a couple of mouthfuls before passing it back to his mentor, glancing apologetically at his blood smeared face.

"You look like you could use some too."

"Thanks."

Duncan drank some and poured a little onto a handkerchief to wipe his face over, trying to marshal his thoughts for the difficult discussion to come. Sure enough, Richie looked over at him and raised his brow in challenge.

"So?"

"Put your shoe on." Duncan stalled, passing him the item.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Richie answered, as he complied. Obviously determined not to be distracted.

"C'mon Rich. You know he's not dead," There had been no sign of a Quickening and the place had been tidied with everything squared away. "Can't we just leave it at that? When your Da's ready he'll tell you himself."

"No dice, Mac. If you're out there somewhere and hurting then I want to know. Would you leave me hanging?"

"Richie, I'm not him."

"You will be."

"And your seventeen year old self 'will be' Immortal. He's not now. If you'd met me in the 1800's I would have been different again. Who knows what I'll be like in another hundred years?"

"I do."

Duncan ignored that. "Look Rich, if your Da wanted you to know don't you think he would have found a way to tell you himself?"

"He left you a note didn't he?" Richie turned excitedly in his seat. "Some kinda sixteenth century secret Scottish clan thing, right?"

Resigning himself to the inevitable Duncan sighed. "Actually, it was more of seventeenth century French bronze figure thing."

"You mean the fencing dude on the table by the front door?" Richie remembered. "The one that was broken?"

Duncan nodded. Richie paled at the implication.

"It could have been an accident," He grasped at a straw. "Someone could have just dropped it."

"Maybe."

Richie knew as well as he did that solid bronze didn't break that easily. And the last time Duncan had seen that statue it had beenperfectly intact. If it had been hit with a random sword blow the damage would have been much more extensive. This was a precision job. His fingers had felt the saw marks were it had been neatly cut.

"Mac," Richie spoke slowly. "That figure was missing an arm."

Duncan started the car and put it into gear, pulling it back onto the road towards Paris before he answered.

"I know."

* * *

As they pulled up at the Quay Duncan looked over at the silent blonde. He wasn't sure what reaction he had expected. The loss of a limb was a traumatic injury for any Immortal, one of only a handful of conditions that they could not regenerate. But it was not in itself a death sentence. A skilled swordsman could learn to compensate. But that took time, which they probably didn't have.

"You okay?"

Richie gave him an unreadable glance as he climbed out of the car. His worry mounting Duncan got out in his turn and walked around the bonnet of the car, stopping the lad in his tracks, by putting a hand on each shoulder. Richie looked up at him, the pain in those blue eyes almost overwhelming, before he glanced away.

"This is all my fault."

"The hell it is," Duncan spoke fiercely, turning Richie's jaw so the lad was forced to look him in the eye. "If I chose to stand by you, it was because I thought you were worth it. I still do."

Desperate for a way to comfort him and not knowing the words, Duncan pulled him into a hug, holding him tight with all the love and reassurance he could muster. It took several moments, but at last Richie hugged him back, acknowledging his enduring place in the other man's affections.

"We'll get through this," Duncan assured him as they pulled back. "Together."

"Then, I guess" Richie dug around in his pocket and produced the little leather bag he had been carrying earlier. "You're gonna need this."

"And its not even my birthday," Duncan tried to lighten the mood, as he tipped the contents of the bag out onto his hand and held up the crystal on its simple leather cord. He did his best to hide his frown, this kind of new age jewalry wasn't really his taste, but he wasn't about to upset the lad. "Its .. um .. different. Thanks Rich."

"You do know what this is, right?"

Now that he looked at it, something about the crystal did seem familiar. Then it clicked. Amanda had shown him a piece just like this one once, which she had received from her mentor Rebecca. The legend was that those who possessed the crystal would achieve eternal life. Or something like that.

"Its one of Rebecca's crystals."

Richie nodded. "In the future, things get pretty intense. The days of going a century or two without taking a Quickening are long gone. Sometimes its two or three in a week. It gets hard, you know?"

Richie looked at him to see if he was following. Duncan understood only to well. Some Quickenings were easier to absorb than others, but they all took time. It took a while before you felt exactly yourself again. Pile too many Quickenings on top of each other and it would be harder and harder to keep that sense of self.

"The crystals act like a kind of conduit," Richie shrugged. "Don't ask me how, but when one of us takes a Quickening some of the energy gets stored inside of it, kinda makes sure we don't get our own circuits overloaded."

"Like in a Dark Quickening?"

"Hope so." Richie gave him a rueful grin.

"Then you need it more than me." Duncan tried to offer it back.

"I already have one," Richie dug around under his shirt and showed it to him. "So, do the others. I just .. , I want you to have this Mac."

Duncan drew in a sharp intake of breath. He knew what this was. It was a parting gift. Richie wanted to do his best to makesure that he was safe if the unthinkable happened.

"You're going to face him, aren't you?"

"I have to," Richie looked away. "Its time. And I'm ready."

"Then you'll have to go through me first." Connor's voice announced as he descended the steps from the road.

* * *

"Connor," Duncan watched as his mentor advanced across the Quay. "What are you talking about?"

"You asked me to deal with Ares," Connor shrugged. "I did. Problem solved."

"You can't kill him." Richie said flatly.

"No, but I could take steps to ensure that he wouldn't be bothering any of us for a good long while. Never fear lad, he's safely dead, he won't be harming you or yours anymore."

"Its too late for that. He already sent his goons to take out Mac and you can bet they sure as hell didn't play by the rules." Richie snapped.

Connor paled. "Duncan is dead?"

"Not dead." Duncan rapidly explained.

"So," Richie tipped his head on one side. "Tell me where he is. Cos, I'm gonna go give him a little wake up call."

Connor looked at him in sympathy, but shook his head.

"I'm sorry Risteard, I can't do that. Maybe in a century or so."

"What?" 

"I can't let you fight him. You're not ready."

"Oh, trust me," Richie vowed. "I'm more than ready. And if you won't tell me where he is I'll just go ask Joe. I'm betting he has about a gazillion Watchers on you guys right now." He started to walk away only to be stopped by a vice like grip on his arm.

"I said," Connor spoke quietly as he put his hand meaningfully on the Katana. "If you want to fight him then you'll have to go through me first."

"Connor, no!" Duncan was aghast. "What are you doing, man? You can't challenge him!"

"If yon laddie thinks he's good enough to best a man like Ares, I should be no challenge."

"Aw, c'mon, Connor," Richie stepped back telegraphing his reluctance as clearly as possible. "I don't want to do this."

"Then don't fight Ares."

"You gotta see I can't do that," Richie shook his head. "I have to see this through. I owe it to Mac."

"Then you leave me no choice."

Richie leapt sideways, barely avoiding the swipe Connor aimed at his chest. Swiftly drawing his own sword and bringing it round in a defensive sweep he backed up, his eyes widened with sudden fear as he realised the Highlander was deadly serious.

"For God's sake Connor," Duncan tried to make his kinsman see reason. "Not here. Its broad daylight."

As if to prove his point the sound of clashing blades brought Tessa out onto the roof of the barge, her hand covering her mouth in horror.

"If the lad thinks he's ready, let him prove it." Connor attacked again.

"Killing me won't make me ready." Richie gasped, as he tried, only partially successfully, to avoidanother vicious slash. "C'mon Connor. Just tell me where he is. I don't have time for this."

"Connor, this is madness," Duncan implored. "You'll do him no service if you leave him too spent to fight the enemy. For the Clan's sake yield."

"Do you think Ares will show him any mercy?" Connor hissed through gritted teeth as he lunged again at Richie's thigh. "If he goes up against him now he'll die. If the lad won't listen to reason then maybe he can learn from experience."

"Well you know what they say," Richie countered, as he moved swiftly out of range of Connor's sword. "You're never too old to learn."

The move was so fast, and so smoothly executed that Duncan didn't see it coming. One minute Connor was on the offensive, forcing Richie back. The next he was standing very still with the point of the blonde's sword at his throat.

"This ready enough for you?"


	21. Relativity

AN – Sorry for the delay, as I said RL is pretty full on right now. Its hard to find time to write at all, so please forgive any typos.

Genna12001 – Thanks for the review, here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy.

Sari – Ah. It might help to remember that the 17-year-old Richie isn't Immortal yet – while the future one is. I'm afraid its only going to get more confusing from here but I've tried to address that. See the AN at the end!

Supernatural Chick – I'm glad you like the twist. I try not to be too predicable. I find stories more interesting when you can't guess what's coming, so I try to write like that. Thanks for the kind words and hope you enjoy the next chapter.

SC – Grins. This is only the beginning of the end. There is so much more to come!

Neoinean – As I said I thought about writing a longer sword fight, but the idea was that Richie beat Connor easily. With all those teachers he should have learnt something! But there are other trials ahead, more complex than just wielding a sword. I think you will find it interesting.

Ivy3 – Well, this is a tricky one for me as I can't really reply without revealing rather more of my hand than I want to at present! All I can say is trust me everything I've written has its place in the storyline. I hope you won't be disappointed at the end. Thanks for reading.

Tammi -Thanks for the review. You seem to be doing fine to me! Yes, Duncan has lost an arm, Yes, Ares is locked up, and temporarily dead. And now on with the rest!

* * *

To clarify. Slick and Duncan are the 1992 versions. Macleod and Richie are the future versions and this is how they will be referred to from now on!

* * *

"Now," Knowing to be cautious, Richie didn't attempt to move his blade from the Scot's neck or give Connor the slightest advantage until he had extracted the information he needed. "Tell me where Ares is."

"Over my dead body." Connor declared flatly.

"Damn it Connor, when exactly will you stop thinking of me as the seventeen year old kid who broke into the Store that night? Would he have been able to survive that time in the desert? Would he have been able to rescue you from Belize? Would he have been able to do this?" For emphasis, Richie pressed the point of his sword a little further into Connor's neck. "If you had won you would have expected me to back off like a good little Immortal. Except, I won fair and square. So, you're damn well gonna do me the credit of telling me where he is, or I'm gonna forget wewere ever family."

"Alright," Connor agreed. "Just promise me one thing."

It was on the tip of Duncan's tongue to protest. Connor had acceded far too readily. He took his role was elder of the Clan very seriously. No way would he relinquish that just because Richie had got lucky this one time. But Richie leapt in before he could speak.

"Anything."

Connor recited an address that Duncan recognised as being a warehouse district on the other side of the city. The buildings had been razed and rebuilt many times and were presently all but condemned, but the stone cellars beneath them with their vaulted ceilings had stood since medieval times and would endure for many years to come.

"Thank you." Richie nodded his gratitude and moved slightly, in preparation for sheathing his sword, only for Connor to reach out and grasp the blade, holding it at his throat.

"No."

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Richie gawped.

He didn't dare move the lethal blade. Already Connor's fierce grip had caused the razor sharp edge to bite into his skin, sending rivulets of blood dripping down the bright metal to drip onto the floor. One wrong move and the Highlander would lose a finger, or three. Richie looked at him incredulously, the first thing any new Immortal learnt was never ever touch the blade. Apart from the obvious danger it was a sure fire way to tarnish the metal.

"One thing." Connor repeated, bringing the sword up to his throat, his meaning clear as Richie's eyes widened with shock and he shook his head in horrified disbelief.

"Connor, don't do this." Duncan protested.

"If the lad is foolish enough to ignore my advice then my Quickening will do him more good than my continued existence. Think of it as my last gift to the Clan." Connor didn't take his eyes off Richie.

"I am not taking your head." Richie tried to dis-engage.

Connor wouldn't allow it. "You gave me your word of honour, Risteard." He murmured forcefully.

The words caused a dark shadow to pass over Richie's face. "_This_ is your idea of honour? You want me to whack you? Well, you know what? Fuck your honour! I might not have been born part of your Sainted Clan Macleod. But I sure as hell know that you don't trick people you love in trying to chop off your head. So what if it helps me beat Ares? How the hell am I supposed to live with myself after that?"

"Please, laddie," Connor's tone was unusually gentle. "I can do no more for you. You'd not wish to see me beg."

"Don't be such a damn fool Connor."

All three Immortals turned their heads to look at the newcomer, as he detached himself from his vantage point by shadows under the bridge and came forward.

"Mac?" Richie breathed, as he sword fell from his suddenly lifeless hand, causing Connor to hiss in pain as he compensated for the sudden weight. "Oh_ Mac_!"

There was a note of exaltation in his voice that Duncan had never heard before. The other Macleod simply waited, an unreadable expression on his face as Connor and Duncan's eyes travelled down the line of his right sleeve to look at the lose material flapping beyond the elbow. Richie had no such qualms as he threw himself at the figure, hugging him fiercely.

"Oh shit,_ Mac_."

The edge of tears in the lad's voice was sufficient to cause the Scot to pull his good arm around him and drop his face into the blonde curls as he held him close.

"Easy, Tough Guy."

They stood like that, wrapped in each other for a long moment. Feeling oddly jealous, Duncan went to move forward, only to feel Connor's touch on his arm. "No, given them some time." He murmured, as he sucked on his rapidly healing fingers.

As they watched the other Macleod gently drew back, to search Richie's features intently. He said something Duncan didn't quiet catch, as he gently stoked his thumb across Richie's cheek. The lad laughed a little and shook his head in response, before disentangling himself sufficiently to pick up the holdall at Macleod's feet with his free hand. The Highlander kept his good arm, firmly around the lad's shoulders though, Duncan noted

"Hey Mac," As he appraoched Richie was grinning broadly. "Meet yourself."

The face was the same. Like looking into a mirror. Even the eyeswere the same as they looked at him, still softened with love for the young man at his side.

"Can you touch him?" Richie tone was curious. "Or will like the Universe implode?"

"I don't know," Macleod glanced at the lad in amusement. "Didn't you try already?"

"Me and I haven't exactly been introduced yet," Richie shrugged. "Methos seems to think his brain will melt if he figures out who I am. He and Rebecca spirited him off to the Manor to play happy families."

Despite Richie's practised nonchalance, the sudden flash of understanding in Macleod's eyes told Duncan that his other self understood exactly how painful that must have been for his student. His good hand moved up to rub briefly at the bare skin at the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry."

Richie looked up and met his eyes and nodded once, softly, as Macleod's expression portrayed his regret for far more than just that single incident. Anything else he might have said was forgotten as another voice spoke hesitantly.

"Duncan?"

Tessa had come down from the deck of the barge and now stood looking from her lover to this other man with a look of wonder on her face. Duncan watched as Macleod looked up, he knew how he would feel if he saw Tessa living and breathing after he thought her dead in the cold earth. He wouldn't be able to put her down. To his surprise, Macleod's expression grew taut with pain and regret.

"Tessa."

As if the sound of her own name solidified the spectre Tessa stepped forward. Standing on tiptoe she reached up and kissed him, firmly, softly, on the mouth, drawing back slowly to look deep into his eyes.

"You couldn't have saved me. Don't you dare blame yourself for my choices, Duncan Macleod."

Duncan swallowed hard. How well she knew him. Yet her words just added to the consternation on Macleod's face and Duncan could see he was mentally preparing himself to ask something that burned deep within his soul. When the quiet question came it took his breath away.

"Was it worth it?"

"Tell me this," Her fingers caressed the soft wool where his empty sleeve flapped. "Even knowing the price you would pay, would you do anything less for love?"

Macleod reached out and cupped his hand under her chin as he recognised the forgiveness she was offering.

"No, I can't imagine I would."

* * *

Duncan Macleod slammed the dishwasher shut a little harder than was strictly necessary to perform the function, taking a certain satisfaction in setting the dishes rattling in their settings. Who did He think He was? Coming into his home and taking over his life? And not just him, if it wasn't bad enough that Tessa was smiling at him and laughing at his jokes, Connor was treating him like an equal and now from the noises he could hear from the salon, Methos, Rebecca and Amanda had arrived to join in the hero worship.

"And what am I?" Duncan mocked himself his Scottish accent pronounced. "Some kind of flunky?"

"What's a flunky?"

Duncan looked up to see the seventeen year-old Richie lounging in the doorframe. In the wash of arriving Immortals he had completely overlooked the small vibrant hum of the pre-Immortal. But of course, Methos wouldn't have left him alone at the Manor

"Shouldn't you be at the party?" he snapped, embarrassed at being caught unawares.

At the swift flash of hurt in the boy's eyes he instantly regretted his tone. Lord knows, none of this was the boy's fault. He almost laughed as the boy read his chagrin and quickly tried to turn it to his advantage.

"Can I have a beer? I mean, if it's a party and all?"

"You can have a soda." Duncan opened the fridge and pulled out one of the cokes. From the satisfied look on the boy's face as he popped open the top it was more than he had hoped for. Hesitating a moment, Duncan pulled out a can for himself. Might as well see what all the fuss was all about.

"You like that stuff?"

"Never tried it before," Now Duncan did laugh at the expression that admission put on the boy's face. "In four hundred years there are some things that I haven't done, you know."

"Right." The blonde looked unexpectedly deflated.

Knowing enough by now not to come at any issue with Richie straight on, Duncan stalled for time by popping open his can and taking a long swallow of the sweet, fizzy, dark liquid. It was surprisingly good. "That's pretty nice."

"You like it, huh?" The boy couldn't have looked smugger if he had invented the drink. "_He_ said it was all sugar and caffeine and stuff."

"I'll let you into a secret," Duncan confided. "He doesn't know, cos he's never tried it before either."

"Oh." He looked a little brighter.

"He made you go for a run every morning and eat your veggies, huh?" Duncan teased.

"Naw," The boy laughed too. "Well, not much. Its just he has that other dude now. I guess I thought maybe you were like me. You know, mortal and stuff."

"Ah," Duncan understood all too well. It couldn't have been easy for the boy to be usurped by his confident, charismatic elder self. "I was when I was your age, if that's any help."

"He's really me?" The boy asked softly. Duncan sighed. He supposed no matter how well things had been explained, it was still bound to be confusing. He had far more experience of the world and he was still trying to get his head around it. He wasn't expecting what came next as the boy gave a disgusted snort. "Cos, I never thought I'd grow up to be such a jerk."

"He's a good person, Richie."

"Slick."The boy corrected. "I'm Slick. _He's_ Richie."

_Slick? _Duncan blinked slightly at what that nickname told him about the boy's time on the streets. If he had been a thief, he had at least been a very good one. No wonder Amanda liked him.

"He's still you, Slick."

"He likes Opera," Slick shook his head. "And he wears chinos. And he eats weird stuff. And he speaks all these languages and he's been to all these countries. He said one day I'm gonna get a Harley. I mean, what planet is he on? He's totally forgotten what its like to be normal."

"Define normal."

"What?"

"Well, when I was young, normal was wearing a kilt and throwing your chicken bones on the floor. If you had a dispute with your neighbour you didn't take it to the People's Court, you settled it at the business end of a sword. Things change, Slick. People change," He looked darkly at the wall between them and the salon. "Although, I was never so sanctimonious and smug as yon fine booby through there."

"Um, Mac," Slick tipped his head on one side. "I hate to break it to you, but if all this crazy stuff is for real you're gonna be."

Duncan looked at the boy in front of him. His heart lurched slightly as he realised that this lad was as much his son as Richie was. "Well, maybe I can learn from my mistakes."

* * *

Out in the salon, Richie finally found what he had been looking for. Dusting off the bottle from the back of the cupboard, he checked the label. This was the one. Deftly opened the bottle he picked up two glasses and made his way to the stern of the boat.

"You're missing one hell of a party," he told the figure standing in the darkness. "Amanda is telling Tessa about the time she and Connor ran that brothel together."

"I'll be in, in a moment."

Richie knew a dismissal when he heard one. But that didn't mean he had to act on it. Subtly hoping to attract the Scot's attention he noisily poured two large measures into the glasses and passed one over. Macleod woodenly accepted the glass with his good hand and drank it down in a long swallow with no regard to its fine vintage, only to gasp appreciatively at its mellow burn.

"What is that?"

"Good, isn't it?" Richie showed him the bottle that he remembered sharing with the Scot on his twenty-first birthday. "And its even better the second time around."

"Rich .." Macleod's demeanour softened considerably as he recognised the gesture. "I was saving that for a special occasion. A verra special occasion."

"Mac, you're home and you're safe," Richie told him quietly. "I happen to think that's a pretty special occasion."

Macleod didn't speak, but the glance he gave to his useless, empty, sleeve spoke volumes. Richie waited. He'd learnt over the years that given enough time Mac would usually come clean, at least with him.

Although, sometimes he needed a little prodding. Richie refilled his glass.

"How bad was it?"

Downstairs in the little corridor between the galley and the small bedroom under the wheelhouse, Duncan froze, the tray of hot chocolate, cookies and cake for his video fest with the bored and unsettled teenager, feeling suddenly heavy in his flesh and blood hands as Richie's question drifted through the grate in the ceiling.

"That bad, huh?" Richie asked lightly, when he received no reply.

Duncan sucked in his breath. He knew _exactly_ how he would feel if he was deprived of his right arm, his ability to defend his family, to become less than the warrior he was born to be. And he wasn't at all sure that he could share that rawness. Not even with Tessa, much less the lad. To his surprise his other self didn't seem to share those reservations.

"Pretty bad." the tone was rueful.

"They cheated." That was a statement, not a question.

"There were three of them. I fought as best I could. I knew I had to give Fitz time to get Slick to safety. I guess I did too good a job. So, they shot me."

Duncan leant back against the wall, closing his eyes. So the arm had been removed when he was already dead? Not a wound received in honourable battle, but a token of the pettiest emotions known to man, revenge, and retaliation.

"Slick? Man, I haven't heard that nickname in years," To Duncan's surprise there was amusement in Richie's tone. Then he realised the lad was subtly deflecting Macleod from the painful memories. "Not since I was seventeen. Did he ask you to call him that?"

"It was easier. He wasn't you, Rich," Macleod was deadly earnest. "Much as I wanted, needed him to be, he wasn't the man I have grown to respect as my equal, trust as my friend and love as my son."

"So," Richie's voice grew more distant as if he had turned away. "Why didn't you come home?"

Duncan straightened. He wanted to hear this too. What possible justification could his elder self possibly have for letting the lad think he was dead, or worse, that he had abandoned him, like so many others?

"I wanted to," Macleod paused, as if considering whether to admit the truth. "But I was afraid."

"Of what?" Richie's voice was angry now. "Of this?" There was a soft thwacking sound as if Richie had slapped the empty sleeve. "Did you really think I'd care worth a damn? I needed _you_, Mac."

"I know," There was a rustle of cloth as if Macleod had put down his glass and wrapped his good arm around the lad's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I thought I was doing right by you. You had your own burdens. I didn't want you to have to carry mine also."

"Yeah well, the next time you feel like getting all holier than thou, just check will ya? They do have the telephone in this century you know, you could have asked what I wanted." Richie sounded only partly mollified.

"You seem to have been getting along well enough with the laddie."

It took Duncan a moment to realise that Macleod meant him. He bristled slightly at the implication. There was only a hundred years between then. That didn't exactly make him wet behind the ears.

"Yeah, well. He is you," Richie paused as if considering. "Kinda."

"But?" Macleod prodded in his turn.

"I thought it would be the same, but there was so much he didn't know. It was almost like I was the older and wiser one all the time. That's your job."

"Ach, Laddie," Macleod's tone was full of love. "Your Da's here now."

A small crash as plastic shattered on hardwood floor was Duncan's first indication that Slick had come out of the small bedroom, chosen video in hand to see what was keeping him. Looking up he saw the boy's face was pale with shock andhis eyes wide with amazement.

"He's .. They're .. No way." He swayed.

"Whoa, steady," Duncan hastily dumped the tray and reached out to grasp his collar as the boy looked in imminent danger of keeling over. "You'd better sit down." Steering the boy back into the bedroom, he settled the boy on the bed. "Put your head between your knees."

"That's stupid," Richie protested groggily. "I'm not doing that."

"Yeah well, passing out and gnashing your head on the side table is even stupider." Duncan pressed his head down, holding it in place, when the boy squirmed. "I'm trying to help you here. Just keep still, will you?"

"You can't tell me what to do," Richie muttered resentfully, although he stopped struggling. "You're not my Dad."

Duncan opened his mouth. Closed it. Had no idea what to say. Under his hand, Richie stilled as the realisation struck.

"Oh shit." he breathed.


	22. Ratification

LoMaRiBa – Glad you enjoyed, more Mac and Richie and Slick and Duncan and Slick and Richie ahead!

Sue - Thanks for the review. Its nice to hear from you again. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story.

Annikaya – Thank you so much for your kind words. I hope the next chapter lives up to your expectations.

Teri – I think you might be right about Connor. He can be pretty stubborn. But then so can Richie!

SC - Richie Richie Richie .. Slick Slick Slick .. OK got it.

Genna12001 – Thank you for reviewing. Sorry for the delay. Hope this is worth the wait.

Supernatural chick – What can I say without giving stuff away? Hmm everyone is moving towards a certain spot where they all need to be and then certain things will happen. Clear as mud? Good!

Sarai – Thanks for the repeat reviews. Your support is much appreciated. Hope you enjoy the next instalment.

Neoinean – Mac's arm .. just below the elbow and big fight with Ares .. coming soon.

Tammi – Hmm do I have a solution that means Duncan won't lose his arm? You'll have to wait and see but .. yes.

Now on with the story ..

* * *

"OK," Slick ducked out from under Duncan's hand and scooted as far away from him as the small room would allow, backing up until he was pressed up the headboard of the small bed. "I was pretty cool about the whole living forever thing. I didn't blink at the magic healing stuff and I wasn't even freaked by the whole head taking thing," He considered that. "Well, no more than any sane person, y'know? But this sucks. Big time." 

"He didn't tell you?" Duncan was sympathetic.

"No, he didn't _tell_ me," Despite the scornful tone the words sounded hollow to them both. Slick ducked his head. "Guess he didn't much like what he saw, huh?"

"I'm sure that wasn't it," Duncan tried to reassure. "He must have said something?" He couldn't see Slick agreeing to fly halfway across the world with a man he'd only just met without some kind of incentive.

"Come with me if you want to live?" Slick tried to shrug. He couldn't quite carry it off.

"What happened?"

"Some dude with a sword wanted to make me a head shorter," Slick looked away, biting his lip. "Damn near succeeded too. Then Mac took his head and all hell broke loose and suddenly being able to produce a passport from thin air for someone who had never been outta Seacouver before didn't seem like the thing I should be worrying about."

"What about your family? Someone must have been looking after you? Won't they wonder where you are?"

"I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can," Duncan almost smiled at the teenage bravardo. Except that, in Slick's case it was probably true. Lord knows the boy didn't seem to have the faintest idea what it was like to have kin who stood by you. "But you're only seventeen. That makes it illegal."

"A whole lotta things I do ain't exactly legit. I thought you got that by now, Macleod."

"Hey," Taking a risk Duncan nudged the boy's foot affectionately. "I'm Duncan. _He's_ Macleod."

It didn't exactly get the response he'd been hoping for.

"Yeah, well," Slick pulled his foot away as he tugged at a loose thread in the blanket covering the bed. "That would be about right. Cos, I ain't exactly the same as Richie Rich out there. Case you hadn't noticed."

"He's just older," Duncan soothed. "Otherwise, he's still you."

"Are you nuts?" Slick looked at him in astonishment. "_He's_ one of you guys. He's an Immortal."

Oh Lord.

"Slick," Duncan was beginning to think this really wasn't his day. He tried to express the idea in a way that the boy would understand. "Its not exactly a lifestyle choice."

"Nuh uh. No way," Slick scooted back, pressing himself up against the headboard as if to distance himself from the very idea. "I'm 100 mortal. I get older every birthday. And I bleed too. See?"

The switchblade was out of his pocket and flashing across his palm before Duncan could reach him.

"Slick, no!"

Even as he grimaced in pain Slick thrust the bleeding wound at the Immortal. "No flashing blue light for yours truly. No siree. And I got the scars to prove it."

"Give me that!" Muttering under his breath, Duncan grasped the injured hand and put pressure on the wound. "Hold it up," he instructed brusquely as he elevated the bleeding above the boy's heart. "Tess. Tessa!"

"Duncan," Tessa appeared in the doorway. "Whatever is wrong?"

"Slick had a little accident," Duncan informed her, not taking his eyes off the boy. "Fetch me the first aid kit will you?"

"What's going on?" Attracted by the commotion Macleod, with Richie at his shoulder, appeared in the doorway, his face creasing in concern when he saw the rivulets of blood leaking around Duncan's hand where it was still covering the wound. At once his face darkened and he stepped forward protectively. "What did you do to him?"

"Hey," Duncan began to protest.

"It wasn't him," Slick came unexpectedly to his defence as Tessa arrived back and started passing Duncan items from the First Aid kit.

"Please tell me I wasn't playing with sharp objects again." Richie grinned ruefully.

"Hey," Slick made an obscene gesture with his free hand. "Swivel on this Immortal boy. I managed this all by myself, right? You weren't even in the room."

"You think?" Richie drawled in a perfect imitation of his teenage self and held out his own palm for inspection. Everyone in the room fell silent as they looked at the old scar running across his palm. To Duncan's eye the two wounds looked absolutely identical.

* * *

He came to him, as Richie had known he would, hovering on the edge of his vision, flexingthe hand, deftly bandaged by Duncan and shifting slightly from foot to foot as he waited to be noticed. 

Richie purposefully ignored him, wanting the kid to make the first move, concentrating on his sketching, rubbing out a line with his thumb and frowning. Not _quite_ right.

"What are you doing?" Slick's curiosity won out.

"Drawing."

"Now I know you're not me," Slick insisted. "No way do I know squat about drawing."

"You're just saying that cos Mrs Walker in the 3rd Grade told you your kangaroo was a lovely dinosaur," Richie commented absently as he sketched. "Actually, you have a good eye for colour and form."

"I do?"

"Just ask Tess."

"Alright, so maybe you looked some stuff up about me from my files," Slick challenged. "That don't mean you know nothing about me."

Now Richie did look up, bright blue eyes softened with age, meeting bright blue eyes hard and brittle with distrust.

"Max Fulbright's not in your file."

Slick dropped onto the sofa as if someone had chopped his legs off at the knees. His face paled and his mouth gaped open in an astonished oh of disbelief.

"You don't know about Max. You can't. I never told. Not anyone."

"You want to see those scars?" Richie challenged in his turn.

"Hell no," Slick vetoed _that. _Then he paused. "You're really me?"

"Here," Richie passed him the finished sketch. "That's not in your file either."

Slick looked at the picture that Richie had drawn from memory. It matched exactly the picture seared into his own brain. The way her soft hair curled around her shoulders. The impish look in her eyes. The quirk of her smile and the city skyline behind her as she sat on the roof of their apartment building. Slick pressed his lips together. He had been fourteen and in a particularly abusive foster home that would come to a violent and messy end a short time later. And he had just made love for the very first time.

"Cass." He breathed.

"You'll see her again." Richie's voice was gentle.

"Hey, I see her all the time," Slick shrugged. "Who doesn't? All I gotta do is buy her latest track or turn on MTV or whatever. Hey, you go down the mall in Seacouver they've got a whole billboard of her. Local girl makes good. Hell, I can't turn around for seeing her."

"No, I mean you'll _see_ her again. As in a date. Marriage actually."

"Cass? Marry me?" Slick laughed. "Yeah, right after I win the National Superbike championships. She's got some movie deal or something going on now, you know. She wouldn't give me the time of day."

"Immortals aren't the only ones with secrets," Richie snagged the picture out of his hand and scribbled some formulae on the back. "When you meet her, you'll need that."

Slick scowled at the unfamiliar symbols.

"First the chinos, then the Opera, now you're a science geek?"

"What did you figure you'd be like when you got older?" Richie asked, knowing full well he'd achieved at least eight of his top ten childhood ambitions. Including wining the National Superbike championships.

His younger self gave him a scornful look.

"I dunno. Taller?"

* * *

Sometime later Richie sat in the stern, wrapping his arms around his knees to ward off the chill as he waited. As he had known he would Macleod sought him out, sitting himself down beside him without invitation and simply waiting in his turn. Richie almost smiled as he felt his father shift slightly, looking around him, before those deep brown eyes came to rest on his face for a few moments, before looking away again. 

_Here it comes._

"You've been out here a while. Something bothering you?"

Richie simply shrugged in reply. Outwardly Macleod didn't react, but as he watched the small boats making their way up and down the Seine, his concern went up another notch. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Richie's right leg jiggling in nervous agitation and his arms were crossed defensively across his body. If he didn't know better he'd think he was dealing with Slick.

"C'mon Rich. Tell me what's going on here."

"He thinks I'm a jerk."

Macleod blinked. Whatever he had expected it wasn't that. Gathering his thoughts he offered token reassurance in the hope of drawing the lad further out.

"Richie, he's seventeen. He doesn't know what he thinks. Or who he is yet. Give him time."

"What if he's right?"

"About what, exactly?"

"Maybe I shoulda made different choices," Richie bit at his lip as he worried at the problem. "I mean these things can change your life. How many times have you hung back to have that extra cup of coffee and met someone you wouldn't have met? Or turned left at the corner instead of right and run into some trouble you could have avoided? Let's face it, Mac. If you'd told me at seventeen I was gonna join the Military, I would have laughed my socks off."

"You had your reasons."

"Oh yeah," Richie gave him a sour look. "I was scared witless."

"_Richie_."

"No, Mac. I'm serious. Methos keeps saying everything depends on my making the right choice, when the time comes. How the hell am I supposed to do that, when I don't even know what the question is? What if some choice I've made has already screwed things up?"

"Is that what you think?"

"I don't know, Mac," Richie looked at him, his eyes dark and serious. "But I think its way past time we go find out."

* * *

"Tell me again how I let you talk me into this." Macleod sighed as Richie navigated the Citroen through the narrow streets to the address Connor had divulged. 

"Because you knew I'd come anyway and you'd rather have me where you can see what kinda trouble I'm getting into." Richie countered with a smile as he pulled into the square and casting a look around at the squat stone buildings thought of the damage a Quickening could cause and parked carefully across the street.

"Expecting trouble?" Macleod asked as he exited the car.

"Do you _want_ a building to fall on it?"

"Look, Rich," Macleod caught him by the sleeve and pulled him back a little. Seeing the determination in the young man's expression, he realised that there was no point in trying to talk the younger man out of this, so he simply reached out and straightened his collar fondly, patting the lapel into place. "Just, be careful, alright?"

"Always am." Richie nodded solemnly

"Yeah, right." Macleod teased. Reaching into his own coat, his expression grew serious as his hand clasped around the hilt of the Katana. "Alright, let's do this."

"That's it? Let's do this" A familiar voice asked from the doorway ahead of them. "That's your idea of a pep talk?"

"Methos," Macleod sighed. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Frankly, no."

"Oh, well. I saw you sneaking off and I thought you might be going to get beer or a pizza or something. So, I followed you."

"How did you get here first if you were following us?" Richie demanded.

"I used my intuition," Methos shrugged. "And your bike. That thing can really move when you open up the throttle."

"Great," Richie looked sourly at Macleod. "Now all we need is Connor and we'll have a real party."

"Um. About that." Macleod nodded towards the dark black sedan that was parked at the corner.

"Damn him," Richie realised. "He's come to move him. He never had any intention of letting me get close to him."

"Well that's fair," Methos shrugged. "Seeing as you never had any intention of keeping your word and taking his head."

Macleod opened his mouth to protest that wasn't entirely fair. Richie had had no way of knowing that Connor would demand such a ludicrous thing in return for his co-operation. But before could get the words out, Richie beat him to it.

"Yeah, well, this time I just might."

* * *

Moving cautiously they carefully navigated their way down the narrow staircase that led to the basement. As they approached they felt the familiar thrum of an Immortal presence. Digging around in his pocket for a flashlight, Richie played the thin beam over the walls before entering the room. 

"Bingo." Richie breathed.

As Macleod stepped forward he saw Ares shackled to the wall. His head rose weakly at the sound of Richie's voice, but the large metal lance that passed through him and pinned him to the wall inhibited any real movement. Any efforts to struggle free would simply result in exacerbating his wounds and return him to the folds of death.

"Nice, Connor." He murmured.

He looked around, but his kinsman was nowhere to be seen. Turning to speak to Richie he realised that the younger Immortal had already crossed the room and had his sword pressed against Ares throat, the blade cutting a small slice into the side of his neck

"What is it the bible says?" He spoke in a low, dangerous, tone Macleod had never heard before. "An eye for an eye, isn't it?"

"Risteard," Macleod going to stand by his side spoke gently. Lord knows the lad had reason enough to be bitter after the torture he had suffered at Ares' hands. But he was loath to see his bonnie lad twisted by revenge. He knew his gentle spirit would be wracked with guilt afterwards. He knew too well how that felt and he didn't want it for his son. "He's not worth it."

"He hurt you, Mac. He knew he couldn't beat you fair and square. He's gotta pay for that," Richie's pain filled voice surprised him. After everything that he had suffered, Richie still cared more for his family than himself. "You, Amanda, Methos, Tessa. Darius. It's all down to him. You don't think he's gotta pay for that?"

"Aye, with his life," Macleod affirmed solidly. "Not with your soul."

"He's evil, Mac," Richie insisted pressing his sword a little further into Ares throat. "If it took me a thousand years to kill him, bit by agonising bit, it would be over too fast."

"Do it." Ares rasped, his eyes cold and mocking.

Macleod straightened. All at once he felt as if they had come full circle. He saw Richie at nineteen, a few short weeks into his immortality, being goaded by Annie Devlin. _Do it. I would_ she'd said. But Richie had spared her. Yet fast forward a scant time later and faced with Mako trapped and struggling and in love and fear and anger he had made the kill.

"Oh, I'm going to." Richie vowed, even as he raised his sword.

Duncan watched, his heart in his mouth. Something wasn't right. Ares was too calm. Too accepting. He felt like he ought to know what was amiss. Except, he didn't. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as Richie's sword flashed down and sliced through the chains holding Ares to the wall. The wasted body would have collapsed to the ground, except Richie reached out and held him up by his throat, bringing then eye to eye.

"When you wake up, I'm gonna be right, here, waiting."

Not without a certain satisfactionthe blondpulled the lance on its tortuous journey out, causing Ares to arch inwordless agonybefore surrendering to death. Richie threw the metal pole into a corner and looked down at the corpse in blank disgust.

* * *

He had no idea how long he stood there, but he knew that he was shaking, the adrenilian corsing through his body in anger, grief and stark, naked, fear. 

"C'mere," Macleod's hand was on his shoulder, shepherding him to the only chair in the room and pressing him down, before digging in his pocket and producing a silver hip flask, twisting the lid off with his teeth, he crouched down beside Richie and put it to his lips. "Drink."

Richie dutifully swallowed, never taking his eyes off Ares corpse. His eyes lingering on the point where his head lolled back, exposing the soft curve of his throat.

"We don't have time for this." Methos protested.

"Shut up, Methos."

"Mac, I think you're missing the point here. Ares is dead. Richie has a nice sharp sword. All we have to do is introduce one to the other before the evil wakes and its Game over. The world will be saved and we'll all have time for a beer before dinner."

"Its that simple?" Macleod scoffed.

"Why not?"

"Because Richie has the right to make his own choices."

"Not this one. Sooner or later he's going to have to square up against Ares. You know that and I for one would rather see him take out the murdering bastard before he kills anyone else. Namely our blue eyed boy here."

"What if its not supposed to be that easy?" Richie's voice asked quietly. "What if, this is one of those choices I'm supposed to make?"

"Oh by all the gods," Methos scowled and strode over to the body, pulling out his Ivanhoe and thrusting it squarely into Ares's heart to avoid any possibility of the Ancient Immortal making an inconvenient return from the dead during what looked like being a long, drawn out discussion. Then he turned back to face Richie. "Alright, what on earth are you talking about?"

"I should have killed Annie Devlin that day and we all know it. Except, I didn't. How many people would be alive today if she hadn't had free reign to kill and main in the name of her cause? Instead, it took me another fifty years to finish what I started."

"Richie, you're not responsible for others actions," Macleod put the hip flash on the ground, so he could tousle his hair. "Just your own."

"And if anyone should have killed Annie Devlin that day, it should have been Macleod." Methos pointed out.

"What about Mako?" Richie shook his head. "I should have let Mako live. The guy was only doing what he thought was right. Laura's death was an accident. Not worth a good man's life. He wasn't even trying to kill me. Just keep me at arms length until he could explain. But I couldn't see it. How many more people died because there was one less straight guy like Mako in the world?"

"Richie, we all agree Ares is a murdering bastard so please, just kill him so we can all go home." Methos implored.

"You wouldn't, would you?" Richie looked at Macleod. "Even after everything he's done for you. You'd still face him in a fair fight."

"That's who I am," Macleod acknowledged. "You've always found your own path, Rich and I'm very proud of you for that. If you'd always done as I'd do, Cortez would have killed Amanda and I, that time in Texas, remember? Whatever you decide to do, I'll stand by you."

"How very touching."

At the sound of the very familiar voice, Macloed's stomach lurched. He turned to look closely at Ares corpse. Which showed the Ivanhoe still firmly in place and showed absolutely no signs of reviving. And as he turned around, Macleod suddenly realised with sickening clarity what it was that he had been missing before as Ares came down the stairs to stand before them.

"Oh shirt," Richie realised in his turn."There's two of him."

"Of course." Methos said to no-one in particular.


	23. Reset

AN- Sorry for the long delay, but it is a long chapter and just in case you wonder when you get to the end, there is another chapter after this!

* * *

Macleod swallowed hard as he caught sight of traces of blood on Ares' sword. It couldn't be. In a voice he didn't recognise as his own he forced the word out over the lump in his throat. 

"_Connor_."

Ares smiled, a thin, deadly, smile.

"I told you what would happen if you went after my friends." Richie's voice was like ice.

"Did you?" Ares tipped his head, considering. "It must have slipped my mind. Of course, that could be because you and I have never actually met before. Unless you count that day in the candy store."

"You. Me. Now." Richie hissed, raising his sword into a ready position.

"Of course," Methos stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked up at the ceiling. "Connor's not actually dead. A Quickening that strong would have brought the house down."

A frown marred Ares' features, as if he hadn't expected his audience to be that perceptive. It was quickly replaced by a sneer. "Let's just say I wanted to repay some of his hospitality first." Ares nodded at his future self's injured body.

"Where is he?" Macleod growled trying not to think of the tortures this man might be inflicting on his kinsman.

"Does it matter? He'll die anyway, when I win."

"When _you _win?" Richie raised a brow in the direction of the future Ares' still inert corpse. "You really think he's big on sharing?"

"I have waited millennia for this," Ares shrugged. "What's another hundred years?"

"Or we could make a deal."

"What could you possibly have to barter that I would have any interest in?" Ares scoffed. "Or were you going to offer me your head?"

"Actually, I was going to offer you your head," Richie nodded at the corpse. "Think about it. This way you don't gotta wait. You just take his head and it's like the next hundred years already happened."

"And while I am weak from the Quickening, you take my head. Do you think I am such a fool?"

"Your head for Connor's. Tell me where he is and I'll leave. We all will."

"What is to stop me challenging you now?"

"Because you might lose." Methos murmured.

Ares looked across at the corpse, obviously tempted. Richie wandered over and pulled out the Ivanhoe, wiping the blood off on the corpse's expensive cashmere coat, before handing it politely back to its owner.

"Clock's ticking," Richie looked at his watch. "Guy of your age. Simple chest wound. We've got what? A couple of minutes before he's all healed? Gonna be a little tricky to explain if he wakes up to see you holding a sword over his head."

"Very well," Ares decided. "Your kinsman is locked in the boot of his hire car." He tossed a bunch of keys at Richie, who deftly snagged them out of the air and passed them to Methos, who nodded his understanding and took the stairs two at a time to check if Ares had indeed been as good as his word.

"So cynical for one so young." Ares sneered.

"From you, I'll take that as a compliment."

"I have him." Methos quickly reappeared in the doorway.

"Is he unharmed?" Macleod growled.

"Unharmed, dead, same thing really," Methos shrugged. "He's still in one piece."

"I believe that's your cue to leave." Deliberately, provocatively, Ares smiled and turned his back as he pulled out his sword. Richie hesitated, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. It would be so easy to just take his head when he wasn't looking. Except, he knew that was exactly what Ares wanted. Attacking before the challenge was issued was a sure fire way to tip the Prophecy in Ares' favour and Richie wasn't about to start playing into his hands. Slowly, reluctantly, he uncurled his fingers.

"C'mon Tough Guy, let's get out of here." He felt Macleod's approving hand on his shoulder.

As they ascended the stairs the first rumblings of a Quickening gathered beneath them.

"You'd think he'd have been bright enough to move out of the cellar first." Macleod observed.

"You think maybe the building will fall on him?" Richie asked hopefully.

"I think," Methos smiled as he pulled out a small egg like object from his pocket, which he pitched down the staircase. "It could be arranged."

* * *

They decided to make their way back to the barge before pulling the dagger from Connor and allowing him to revive. 

"_No sense in getting blood on the seats."_ Methos had observed. Duncan, with Slick hovering behind him, met them on the Quayside, his face tight with worry.

"Connor's missing."

Methos quickly brought them up to speed as he walked around to open the trunk, putting the key in the lock he looked around. "Where are the others?"

"Please tell me you didn't let Amanda take Tessa shopping with my credit card." Macleod groaned.

"Don't worry. You assets are safe enough," Duncan grinned. "I wasn't sure what was happening so I asked Amanda and Rebecca to take Tessa to Darius, for safety. I wanted Slick to go but .." he looked sheepish.

"Looking after Slick is your job." Macleod nodded his understanding.

"And it's always better to keep him close so you can see how much trouble he's getting into." Methos added.

"You guys," Richie looked from one to the other laughing. "Face it, Mac, he flashed those baby blues at you and you caved. Big time."

"I guess you'd know." Duncan agreed.

They all fell silent as Methos popped open the trunk, Slick looked at the body for a long moment before he could find his voice.

"He's really dead?"

The guy sure as hell looked dead. His face was white as chalk and his eyes, staring open, as if caught by surprise, were glassy and empty. Around his jeans was a dark, foul smelling, stain where his body had relaxed its natural functions.

"All you gotta do is pull out that dagger and he'll wake right up. Pretty incredible, huh?" Richie smiled kindly at him.

"Yeah, right." Slick looked warily at the body, clearly not convinced.

"Go on then," Richie encouraged. "Pull it out."

"Me?" Slick squeaked, then looked up at Duncan. "Can I?"

Duncan smiled down at him. "Sure, why not."

"Oookay," Taking a deep breath and seizing the hilt of the dagger in both hands, Richie tugged hard, it shifted a little way and then stopped, so he spread his feet and got a better grip and gave an almighty yank that would have sent him tumbling backwards as the dagger suddenly slipped free, if Duncan hadn't steadied him with a hand.

"Thanks," Richie grinned at him, before looking at the long, vicious, dagger in his hand. "Wow."

"Give me that." Duncan shook his head fondly at him.

They all turned their attention back to the trunk as a low moan announced Connor's return to the living.

"He's gonna be mad as hell, isn't he?" Richie winced.

Macleod gave him a sharp glance. "Rich, none of this is your fault. Connor knows that."

"Oh and being killed always puts him is such a nice, understanding, mood."

"Shit." Slick swore and took three steps back as Connor's blue eyes snapped open.

To everyone's surprise Connor face immediately split into a broad grin. Eschewing Macleod's offer of a hand he practically vaulted out of the trunk. "Risteard! You did it, lad!"

"Umumpf," Richie replied as he was enveloped in a huge bear hug. "Um, yeah, I guess so."

Pulling back and holding him at arms length, Connor continued to regard Richie with such grinning delight that Macleod began to wonder if his characteristically restrained and dour kinsman hadn't taken a knock to the head.

"Lord knows, I had my doubts, it didn't seem right, sending a slip of lad to face someone like Ares, but by God you've done me proud laddie. You've done us all proud."

"Um, Connor." Richie was at a loss.

"So, how are you feeling?" Connor looked him anxiously up and down. "Any after effects from the Quickening?"

"Connor. I didn't kill Ares," Richie realised with an embarrassed shrug. "Either of them."

The elder Scot froze, his eyes going hard as flint.

"Let me get this clear," he hissed. "This man is responsible for centuries of pain. There isn't a single person you love who hasn't suffered at his hands. He tortures you. Attacks Amanda. _Mutilates_ your Da. Has one of his cheating flunkies kill me like a bug and you have him tied up at your mercy and you _still didn't_ take his head?"

Duncan straightened at the look of loss and pain the words put on Richie's face. His head bowed and he didn't even attempt to defend himself.

"For Lord's sake, be reasonable, Connor." Duncan spoke up, the words dying in his throat as his kinsman's fist flashed out and knocked Richie to the ground.

"Connor, what the hell .." That was Macleod, dropping to his knees, to check the blood seeping from Richie's split lip.

"You bastard," Slick raced forward and shoved the surprised Immortal as hard as he could, before he began to pummel on his chest with his fists. "He just saved your sorry butt."

"Slick, take it easy," Duncan reached in and hauled the lad back by his jacket. Even in his anger he didn't think Connor would attack a defenceless child, but he didn't want the boy to harm himself unnecessarily. "Calm down. I'll deal with this."

The boy looked up at him, his desire to trust warring with the anger and suspicion in his eyes.

"Come on," Duncan took him by the shoulder. "You too." He looked across at Connor, his cold tone leaving no room for argument.

* * *

Leaving Macleod and Methos to tend to Richie, Duncan took Slick into the salon and led him to a chair, pausing a moment to pick up one of the lad's hands, noting how the boy stiffened and bite his lip as he gently ran his thumb over the bruises forming on his knuckles. 

"Looks pretty sore."

"Its okay." Slick shook his head.

"If you're going to lead with your fists, turn your hand this way," Duncan demonstrated, gently swivelling the boy's wrist around. "You'll get less bruising that way."

He straightened up, intending to get some ice for the swelling, but hesitated when he saw the tense, angry, movements with which Connor poured himself a drink, throwing it down his throat in a single shot.

"What is wrong with you?"

"He deserved it, Duncan."

"Yeah," Slick muttered darkly, his eyes downcast. "That's what they all say."

"Slick, why don't you go and get some ice for that bruising before it swells?" Duncan suggested, noting with some satisfaction the way his kinsman shifted his eyes and looked uncomfortably away at the vivid description of the boy's injuries.

"I never meant to harm the lad." He muttered, when Slick had left.

"I'm sure Richie will be glad to hear that," Duncan deliberately misunderstood him. "You didn't even see who killed you, did you?"

"I didn't need to. I know Ares was behind it."

"Ain't that the truth," Slick scoffed from the doorway, one hand now wrapped in an ice filled towel. He stepped back quickly as both Immortals glared in his direction. "Sorry, forget I'm even here."

"Come in and sit down and be quiet." Duncan rolled his eyes, before returning his attention to his kinsman. "Connor, Ares was the one who killed you."

"That's nonsense. Ares was right in front of .." Connor trailed off as realisation struck. "Oh."

"What would you have done Connor?" Duncan pressed his point. "If Richie had done what you wanted and killed Ares when he was still in chains, he would still have been weak from the Quickening and utterly at the mercy of Ares' younger self when he arrived. Lord knows, I wouldn't put it past them to have planned exactly that. At least this way he only has to face one of them and it'll probably take Ares at least a week to assimilate a Quickening like that."

"He won't wait that long." Connor's tone was flat.

"Let's hope not." Duncan smiled thinly.

Connor sank, deflated, into a chair as the full meaning of Duncan's words penetrated. If Ares was still disorientated when he came for Richie the chances were he'd be more easily distracted and the lad would at least have a fighting chance. It was an excellent strategy.

"I've been a fool." Connor sighed. "I'll apologise to the lad."

"Richie needs his family around him Connor. But he also needs your support. If you can't manage that I suggest you leave."

* * *

It was an empty threat. As he had known he would, faced with the facts of the matter, Connor went to make his peace with Richie. Looking at the tight, closed face of Slick, scowling in the chair by the fire, Duncan realised that his kinsman might find it more difficult to earn Slick's forgiveness. 

"How are you doing over here?" He reached out to gently unwrap the now soaked towel from the bruised hand.

"Would you really have done that?" Slick asked quietly. "Made him leave and all?"

"If I had to."

"But he's family."

"And Richie's my son."

"But you only just met him. You've known Connor forever."

"You barely know Macleod, but you were pretty upset when you thought he'd been killed."

"That's different," Slick squirmed slightly in his chair. "I mean I know he wasn't my Dad. Not really. But he acted like he was."

"I know. I never had a son before. Oh, I tried. Even came close a couple of times. But it's hard raising a mortal, with the world and your wife constantly ready to remind you that he's another man's child. Not to mention living with the knowledge that you will see them grow old and die and that's if you're lucky. When Richie looked at me, he saw Macleod, but he treated me like his Dad."

"One of my foster mothers used to say, what you've never had you can't miss," Slick shook his head. "I never had a Dad. Not really. Don't get me wrong, Jack was great but he was away a whole lot, he never came to my nativity play or that kinda stuff. And man, I always missed it something fierce."

They both smiled at each other in bashful understanding.

"You know, I'm not real good at playing the bagpipes or whatever it is you Scottish types do." Slick warned.

"I'll let you into a secret, I can't play them either." Duncan grinned.

"And I hate porridge."

"That's only because you haven't tasted it the way it's meant to be made."

"And I never finished High School. I have a Juvie Record as long as your arm and most of my foster parents said I was too loud and I ate too much and sometimes I can be real annoying and ..."

"_Slick."_

"I just want you to know what you're getting into," Slick bit his lip. "I'm not exactly the poster boy for adoption, I … I don't wanna get into this and have it not work. I'd rather go back to the streets."

Duncan had to look away. What kind of a system was it that damaged a child so badly that he was afraid to take another chance on love?

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He instantly regretted his wording as a look of panic appeared on Slick's face, as if Duncan had discovered some dreadful, dark secret from his past. Which Duncan supposed was not altogether unlikely. Still, who was he to judge? He had enough murky corners in his own past. He tried again.

"Slick, I'm not thinking of adopting you."

As Slick's face fell Duncan realised this was not going as smoothly as he might have hoped. And Tessa will kill him if he upset the boy. Quickly reached out and grasped his arm, holding him in place, even as he offered a squeeze of reassurance.

"I don't _have_ to adopt you Tough Guy because I'm already your biological father. And that means you're stuck with me. Got it?" He softened his words with a smile.

"No matter how many times I screw up?" Slick wanted to be sure.

"We'll work it out," Duncan assured him, reaching out to tousle his hair, before surrendering to his instincts and pulling the boy into a hug.

* * *

Up on deck, Macleod watched from a short distance while Connor made his apologies to Richie. Predictably, the lad forgave him easily, leaning into his hug. He was always generous to those he loved, but a good deal harder on himself. And Macleod was afraid that he'd taken what Connor had said much too much to heart. Sure enough, when Connor came back to him, his expression was troubled. 

"I offered to go get Chinese for dinner. Risteard wants fried rice and lemon chicken, how about you?"

Macleod blinked. "What else did he order?"

"He said he wasn't very hungry."

Chinese was Richie's favourite. Ever since he'd lived with Macleod they'd always made a point of ordering at least four different meat dishes and a couple of fish ones, as well as a few vegetarian choices and a selection of side dishes, so everyone got a little variety. This was not a good sign.

"I'll talk to him."

"We'll just get him the usual," Methos decided, holding out his hands for the car keys. "If he doesn't eat it, Slick probably will."

"Why do you need both cars?" Macleod frowned not entirely keen on handing over the Citroen.

"I thought we'd should probably goby the Church and pick up the ladies. Of course, if its a tight squeeze Amanda could always sit on Connor's lap." Methos grinned, sure of the reaction that comment would provoke.

"Fine," Macleod refused to rise to the bait. "But you'll have to go and ask Duncan for the keys. I haven't seen them for about a hundred years."

As the others left, he walked over to stand with Richie in the prow, noting the pale complexion and the too bright eyes, as the lad stared fixedly ahead, desperately trying not to acknowledge his presence.

"Connor apologise?"

A nod.

"So, shouldn't you stop punishing yourself? He was the one in the wrong, Rich. He's even admitted it."

"Was he though?" Richie shot him a stricken look. "Ares' has threatened Tessa, he's hurt Amanda, he killed Rebecca, he's been torturing Methos for years. He would have done the same to Connor. And you …" Richie looked in anguish at Macleod's missing arm. "And it's all my fault."

"The hell it is. Dammit Rich, no one blames you for the things Ares has done. He's just .. evil."

"And evil has to be stopped, right? Don't you get it, Mac? If only I'd killed the bastard sooner, everything might have been different. Now, even if I win, how the hell are we ever gonna live with all the pain he's caused?"

"Richie, I love you. I would do anything for you. Don't you get that by now?"

"I know, I do," Richie assured him. "And I'd do the same for you in a heartbeat. But this is me, Mac. When the battles over and the war's won, how are you gonna feel then?"

"I will still love you."

"Then tell me the truth, Mac."

"What do you want me to say, Rich? That I hate this?" He waggled his empty sleeve. "That it eats me up that I can no longer protect myself and my family as I was raised to do? That I wish Ares had never been born? You know all of that. As for when you win this, who knows what the world will be like then? Maybe things will be different."

"Yeah," Richie gave him a sour look. "The grand prize. Maybe, I'll finally be able to beat you at chess, huh?"

Macleod ignored the snide tone. Lord knows the lad had reason enough to be scared of what was to come. It was only natural that he was wondering if it was worth it, for all of them.

"None of us knows exactly what the Prize will be. Not even Methos. So, for now we can make it whatever we like." He nudged Richie gently with the stump of his arm. "This is nothing compared to all the good you could do."

"Tessa could live." Richie breathed.

"And Cassidy." Duncan agreed.

"Darius could still be alive," Richie fantasised. "And Fitzcairn."

"Rebecca could be part of your life."

"And Alexa part of Methos'. Did you know her cancer had been in remission three times before she met Methos. She was first diagnosed less than two months ago. Right now, a single shot of cerrulum would be enough to cure her."

He paused, his eyes still drawn to Duncan's severed limb.

"I know all that, Mac. I just … I wish I could find another way, Mac. After everything you've already done for me.This is too much."

"You let me worry about that. You just concentrate on beating Ares."

"And afterwards?"

"We'll work it out," Macleod assured him, rubbing his hand across the back of Richie's neck and then using that grip to draw him in and plant a soft kiss on his forehead. "One way or another, we'll work it out."

* * *

Somehow, they all knew that time was running out. Every morning before dawn Richie got up to practice and didn't fall into bed until manipulated, cajoled or ordered to sleep. He worked through every style of fighting with every type of blade Duncan had ever seen and even some that were new to him. 

"He's good." He murmured to Macleod one morning as they watched Richie practice with Methos, Connor and Darius, in the courtyard behind the Church. To Duncan's astonishment the three elder Immortals were tag fighting, each darting into to attack before Richie had quite vanquished his previous opponent. They had thousands of years of experience on him but the lad was holding his own. He moved as if born to the sword, engaging each of his opponents with a ready grin and a joy in the artistry of battle that Duncan wouldn't have expected from a child of this century.

"He's the best student I ever had," Macleod agreed. "When he was mortal I had the devil's own time keeping him out of my swords."

"Talking of which," Duncan looked around. A minute ago, Slick had been sitting on the wall, watching Richie with an unreadable expression. Now he was gone. "Where's Slick?"

In unspoken agreement they split up, each taking one side of the grounds as they searched for the missing teen, glancing into a small alcove housing nothing but a bubbling fountain, Duncan was about to move on, when over the music of the water he heard the sound of muted swearing. Coming around the corner he heard a scrunch of gravel as Slick whirled to meet him, blade up, eyes wide and scared.

"Shit!" Slick complained. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

His expression hard and stern, Duncan advanced on the boy, pushing the blade of the sword down with two fingers. "And you should watch where you're pointing that thing." he spoke coldly.

He saw Slick's expression falter slightly, but his tone was defensive. "Hey, I thought you were Ares!"

"And if I had been?" Duncan growled. "What _exactly_ would you have done?"

"Hey!" Angrily Richie threw the sword to the ground. "It ain't my fault I haven't had a hundred years to get ready for this. I'm just trying to do the best I can here. Cos if he can beat Richie, he's sure as hell gonna take me next."

Oh hell.

Looking up, Duncan saw that Macleod had appeared on the other side of the clearing and was watching the proceedings, his own eyes equally troubled. He wanted to tell the boy that that wouldn't happen, that they would protect him. But if Ares was victorious who knew what kind of hell would break lose?

"Then you'd better learn the first rule of sword fighting," Bending over Duncan picked up the discarded sword and presented it hilt first to Richie. "Never, ever, let go of your sword."

With a slightly uncertain expression, Slick took the offered blade.

"Put your fingers like this," Duncan felt himself slip into teaching mode as he wrapped Richie's hand around the hilt. "That's right. Now extend your arm a little. Yeah, like that. Now centre your feet. Move this one here ..."

Neither of them noticed when Macleod slipped away, a soft smile on his face.

* * *

"Chinese, again?" Amanda wrinkled her nose as she pulled one of the cartons out of the bags Connor was carrying. "That's the second time this week." 

"You're welcome to cook Amanda dear," Connor smirked. "I'm sure Darius will lend you his hearth."

"Isn't it kinda a sin?" Slick asked, as he paused in his search for the prawn crackers. "I mean, are you really supposed to eat stuff in a Church?"

"I'm sure God won't mind," Darius smiled. "Just so long as we clean up after ourselves."

"Cool." Slick grinned. "You want some of this Tess?"

Duncan watched indulgently as the lad settled into a pew and ate with gusto. For his part, Richie had stretched out on his stomach in front of the altar, looking tired and preoccupied, playing with his food and stirring the contents of one container or another without actually putting any into his mouth in a way that had Macleod and Connor exchanging concerned looks.

"I am still in the room, you know." Richie commented after a while.

Duncan swallowed his laugh, as the young Immortal glared at his elders. Obviously neither of them had been as discreet as they'd hoped.

"You have to eat my love." Rebecca nudged the lemon chicken a little closer.

"I am eating."

"Two prawn crackers and a piece of sesame toast isn't exactly a balanced meal." Methos observed, without looking up.

"Not you as well," Richie rolled onto his back and eyed Methos challengingly. "Prawns are protein."

Methos didn't think Richie really wanted to know what prawn crackers were actually made of. He doubted that information would encourage him to eat.

"Besides, _you_ always told me," Richie transferred his glare to Connor. "that it wasn't a good idea to fight on a full stomach. We still need to practice that two-handed defence."

"Not tonight," Macleod vetoed that. The lad had been working too hard. He needed to take a break. "Tonight you're taking the night off. We're going to do something normal. See a movie or take a boat ride down the Seine or something."

"Mac," Richie pushed up onto his elbows. "I don't have time to play tourist. In case you hadn't noticed, the world's about to end."

"All the more reason not to forget how to live, Tough Guy." Macleod admonished gently.

"Not to mention," Methos stood up and began to gather up the empty cartons. "You'd be no good to anyone if Ares turns up when you're dead on your feet."

Slick, who was busy finishing off the fried rice, froze with a pair of chopsticks halfway to his mouth as all the Immortals suddenly got a very strange look on their faces. "What?"

"You just had to go and say it, didn't you?" Richie growled at Methos.

"Oh no," Slick felt his stomach clench as he followed the others towards the door. "No, no no .."

* * *

Outside Ares stood in the middle of the courtyard, holding his sword with a casualness that belied the fire in his eyes. 

"Nice of you to drop by." Richie greeted him, proud of his steady his voice sounded.

"You and I have a little business to transact."

"Ah," Richie made a face. "Today's not real good for me. Don't suppose you could come back in a Century or two?"

"And give you time to recover from your recent exertions?" Ares's cruel sneer made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. "I think not. Yield now and I will be merciful. Kneel before me and a single stroke will spare your friends thespectacle of your prolonged and agonising death."

"This is Holy Ground." Richie protested. "We can't fight here."

"Then I will fight and you will die, screaming in agony as your God fails to protect you. The challenge has been made, boy. Now run along and fetch your sword."

"He's insane." Connor growled, as the little group trooped back inside.

"And you're only just noticing this?" Methos enquired.

"Rich," Macleod spoke up, his eyes worried at this turn of events.

From somewhere Richie found a smile that conveyed all the love, loyalty and gratitude that he felt for this man. "Chill, Mac. What's the worst that can happen? So, its Holy Ground. One way or another the world's already gonna end, right?"

Seeing him determined to be brave Macleod struggled to bury his own feelings, so as not to distress the lad any further before he faced his fate. He hugged him, hard and tight, his voice a fierce whisper in his ear.

"Be safe."

Richie could only nod wordlessly, as he struggled to retain his composure, turning to face Connor, who took his hand in a warriors grip and shook it fiercely. Her smile a little too bright, Amanda kissed him soundly, and then Darius placed a hand on his head and muttered a silent prayer in benediction before Richie found himself face to face with Methos.

"Any words of wisdom for me, old timer?" he managed a wry smile.

Methos gripped his shoulder. "All you have to do, to beat Ares' is to live. As long as you are alive, he's losing." Pulling an evil looking dagger from a deep pocket, he passed it over. Richie's numb fingers closed gratefully over the hilt.

"I'll remember." He nodded seriously.

Standing next to Methos, Rebecca squeezed his hand. "Fight your best fight, my love. That's all any of us can ever do."

"Yes, Mom." Richie gave a shaky grin.

Catching sight of Duncan, Tessa and Slick, hovering at one side Richie gave them a bashful smile.

"Bon chance, mon brave." Tessa came forward and kissed him in her turn.

Slick didn't move, his hands stuffed in his pockets he was trying desperately to look as if he couldn't care less, but his eyes were anguished. Squatting down until he was looking up at the teen, Richie unhooked the piece of Rebecca's crystal from around his neck.

"Look after this for me, until I get back, huh?"

Drawing himself up to meet this significant responsibility, Slick nodded. "You're gonna whack him, right?"

"Hope so." Richie gave a lop-sided grin as he rose to his feet and turned towards the door.

"Richie," Duncan's voice stopped him and he turned on his heel, to see the Scot's arm extended, offering his beloved Katana. "If you're going to face him, you'll need one of these."

"Mac," Richie re-crossed the room, his hand reaching out for the familiar friend, almost of its own volition. He closed his eyes briefly as he remembered the evening that Macleod had first given him the sword. And why. And he was more grateful than he could say that that he would not be facing this alone. "Thank-you. All of you. For everything."

Duncan swallowed hard, feeling the tears well in his own eyes as he watched this remarkable young man prepare to face his fate. With one arm curled around Tessa's waist and another resting lightly on Slick's shoulder his little family steeled themselves to watch.

As he walked through the door to where Ares was waiting Richie felt muscles that had trained hard and long all week protest at being pressed into action once again and he knew only one thing for sure.

He was in big trouble.

* * *

Richie no longer had any idea how long they had been fighting. Time had long since ceased to have any real meaning. Each of them were covered in blood from fresh and long healed wounds, both playing a waiting game, knowing that the first to inflict a killing blow would take his enemy's head. 

Outwardly, he still moved with the strength and fluidity that had convinced many an opponent that they had vastly underestimated the youthful looking Immortal. Inwardly, he knew he was almost spent. The problem was, he had no idea how close Ares was to his limit. With each volley he prayed it was a last burst of effort, before the other faltered, so each time he rallied just enough strength to parry a return. And each time Ares came back at him harder and faster then before and showed no signs of tiring.

One slip, one stumble and it would all be over. And he would take Mac and the others down with him. He didn't think he was strong enough to win and he didn't know how much longer he could postpone the inevitable. Diving hard left, to avoid a particularly vicious swipe, he rolled and caught the anxious, determined, expression on his younger self's face.

And suddenly he knew exactly what to do.

Taking a deep breath he raised his head and looked Ares straight in the eye.

"As long as I am alive, you lose."

Then he lowered his sword and waited for death.

Ares gave a roar of triumph at his submission, his blade cutting down in a blinding flash to slice through the exposed neck with a single, deadly stroke.

At first, there was nothing but Ares' ragged breathing, as he stood hunched and exhausted over the body of his opponent.

A short distance away Connor's eyes widened with stark horror and his expression palled as he took in what had happened. Beside him, Amanda sank wordlessly to her knees as she reached out, as if to touch the rivulets of blood running across the cobblestones, Tessa pressed her lips together, struggling to swallow the bile in her throat as she buried her head in Duncan's chest. Almost mechanically, her lover's arms went around her as he stared disbelievingly at the scene. Rebecca gripped Methos hand so tightly that she broke several of the bones. And he didn't even feel it. Next to him, Macleod took a half step forward as he spoke in a strangled whisper.

"_Richie."_

Almost at once the forces of the Quickening began to gather and swirl and the small assembled company could only stand in vigil as Ares' dropped to his knees and let his sword clatter to the ground, throwing back his head as he prepared to receive the ultimate prize.

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

Slick's tortured cry echoed across the courtyard as he dashed forward, snatched up the Katana from the cobbles and in the seconds before the Quickening struck, swung wildly and sliced Ares' head clean from his body.


	24. Rewind

AN - Thanks to everyone for the reviews. I'm so glad so many of you liked the twist. I was a bit worried about killing Rich! And I do have a plan to fix the Richie/Duncan imbalance Sue! And Phbalance, I hated Archangel too, so trust me, this is only going to be good for our boy. To Serina Kat .. I could cop out and say this is an AU where Darius' Church has pews, but the truth is I forgot they were chairs! Thanks for the heads up. And Neoinean – oh Methos definitely knew. (See the end of chapter 15) And, I really should stop under estimating. Still not finished but I thought I'd be kind and post what I had!

* * *

Slick's eyes widened with horror and he staggered back as he realised exactly what he had done. Almost at once, Ares's Quickening began to gather and swirl. Its tendrils mixing with the mass of Richie's Quickening that still hovered overhead. Looking up, Slick's face drained of all colour as he saw the growing energy field. With eyes wide and scared he looked back over his shoulder.

"Mac?"

For once in his life, Duncan was utterly at a loss. He had no idea how a Quickening would affect a pre-immortal. He wasn't even sure that Slick's body would be able to absorb the energy. And even if he could, the trauma of trying to assimilate a Quickening as ancient and as evil as Ares' would likely be enough to shatter his mind.

"Duncan, the crystal." Rebecca was already taking hers off and offering it urgently to the Scot. At once the others did likewise. Clutching his precious burden Duncan raced across the cobbles and grasped Slick by the shoulders, turning him around even as Slick continued to stare fixedly at the pulsating cloud.

There was no time to lose.

"Slick!" He had to shout to be heard over the cracking energy. "Give me your crystal! Slick!"

The boy looked at him, utterly terrified.

"Its alright," Taking time they didn't have Duncan put a hand on each side of the boys face and smiled as if Armageddon wasn't raging all around then. "Its gonna be alright. Trust me."

In answer, Slick dragged the crystal over his head and thrust it towards the Immortal. Looking up, Duncan saw the force of the Quickenings were almost upon them. Desperately he clutched Slick's one hand in both of his feeling the pieces of crystal merge and join under their grip until they were one whole.

Their eyes met.

"I love you," Duncan shouted "I'm not letting you go, you hear me?"

Slick nodded.

And then it hit.

It seemed to go on forever. Visions of lives he had never lived and places he had never seen swirled around Duncan. The energy radiating from the crystal cracked down his veins and resonated in every atom. But even as he screamed at the heavens he kept a tight grip on Slick's hand. When it was over, he found himself on his knees, his body still resonating with the energy that had engulfed them.

"Slick." Forcing the words out of a throat hoarse from proclaiming its agony, he shuffled across to where the boy was lying, his face pressed against the cold stone as he lay sprawled on the ground. "Slick?" Pushing weakly at one shoulder Duncan managed to roll the slight form over and patted gently at the pallid cheek. "Slick? C'mon, wake up."

Getting no response, his fingers sought the pulse at the carotid artery, even as he watched for the rise and fall of his chest. Satisfied that the lad was alive and breathing and lacking the energy to do anything more Duncan simply pulled his upper body into his lap and wrapped his arms around him as he waited for the others to come to his aid.

"Duncan! Richard!"

The sound of pounding feet heralded Rebecca's approach and Duncan looked up, ready to reassure that their son was at least alive. When she skidded to a stop and put her hand to her mouth in horror he paused.

"What's wrong?"

Between them the crystal pulsed with an electric blue light.

* * *

"But he can't be Immortal," Duncan hissed, keeping his voice low, so as not to be overheard by Tessa who was sitting by Slick's bedside in the next room. "He didn't die."

In the background Tessa's too bright voice talking of how she had met Duncan when she was a tour guide on a boat on the Seine and as soon as he woke up she was going to personally show him all the sights of Paris, so he had better hurry up and wake up as they had a lot to do.

Duncan made a mental note to remind her that Slick didn't actually speak French.

"I know," Rebecca was at a loss to explain it. "And yet I felt him. I'll speak with Darius. Perhaps if I can track down Methos .." she gave a wan smile.

There was another thing. When the Quickenings were spent they had looked around and realised that Richie's body and all their future selves had simply vanished. Signs of their presence still lay scattered all around, but the others were no-where to be found.

"In the meantime," Rebecca gave him a meaningful look. "Someone will need to talk to Richard."

"I know," Duncan sighed. "I will."

There was, he realised, absolutely no mistaking it. As soon as he walked back into the room, Slick's full-blown Immortal presence thrummed right through him.

"How is he?" He looked at Darius.

"Give him time." Darius smiled kindly.

Duncan nodded, looking down at the chalk white features, the mop of red gold hair the only hint of colour amid the crisp, white sheets. Tucked into Darius' high four-poster he seemed impossibly young and fragile. Duncan knew better. This one was a fighter. Gently, he reached out tothe smooth the sweat soaked curls, clenching his hand into a fist when he saw how his own fingers trembled.

"And you, my friend?" Darius asked quietly. "How are you?"

"I'll live." Duncan managed a grim smile.

"Perhaps it would help," Darius began with the air of one sure to be defeated. "If you took a shower, maybe ate a little something ..?" He stopped short of suggesting the Scot got some sleep. He knew that would never happen.

"I'm not leaving him." Duncan all but growled.

"Duncan," Tessa rose from her place by Slick's bedside and pulling him by the hand dragged him to a secluded corner of the room. "It's been almost an hour. Perhaps, we should take him to a Hospital?"

"No hospital."

"You said yourself that this is not normal. What if he never wakes up? He needs tests and machines and doctors to take care of him. We can't just sit here. We have to do something!"

The words, 'before its too late' hovered in the air between them, threatening to strip away the last vestiges of Duncan's control, already shredded by Richie's unexpected Immortality and his own battle with assimilating Ares' Quickening.

"There's nothing we can do Tess, except wait," Duncan sighed as he held her close and sought to offer her what comfort he could. "Wait and pray."

* * *

After an uncomfortable forty minutes shifting around on his chair, Duncan finally gave into the inevitable made a quick pit stop while Darius changed the boy's sweat soaked t-shirt and shorts and put on another set of clean bed sheets. On his return he glanced through the door to the Church on his way back. He hesitated. It would take Darius a few minutes longer to get Slick settled again. Making the decision he made his way to the front of the Church.

He knelt for a moment, his head bowed in desperate prayer, willing to offer his own soul if his lad could just be returned to him, safe and whole.

"Hey, Mac." A voice behind him, spoke shyly.

"Slick," Duncan surged to his feet, overcome with relief to see the lad awake and alert at last. "How are you?"

"I'm good," The blonde smiled softly. "Real good."

"Thank God," Overcome with emotion Duncan stumbled forward and wrapped his arms around the boy, hugging him tight to his chest with one arm, as he reached up with the others to run his fingers through the blonde hair. "You scared me."

"Yeah, I know. That's kinda why I'm here."

Duncan pulled back a little and looked the lad up and down. Someone, probably Tessa, had been shopping. His trainers were pristine white, his jeans new and stiff with disuse. Only the leather jacket looked as if had been loved and worn over many years.

Many years.

He let his arms drop.

"Richie?"

"Nah," The blonde smiled. "I'm definitely Slick. I'm just a bit older. But you can call me Richie, if you like. I kinda out grew the whole Slick thing."

"Outgrew, huh?" Duncan raised a brow. "How much older?"

"About a century," Richie gave him a quick grin. "So, you see its all cool, I'm gonna wake up and my brain's not fired or anything, well maybe a bit singed, but I get over it and hey, Ares and all the bad guys are history, so it was worth it."

"Really?" Duncan asked, his tone a bit ragged.

"You know," Richie rolled his eyes in a gesture common to all teenagers. "Its only gonna take me about fifty years to get you to stop asking that."

"How long?" Duncan swallowed. "Until you wake up?"

Richie reached out and snagged his wrist, turning it over so he could look at his watch. "About six hours. So, shower first, then food. Do you have any idea how long its been since I had a Big Mac? After that, I know where there's a couch with your name on it."

Duncan shook his head. "I promised I wouldn't leave him."

"You can be this stubborn and you still think I came back by myself?" Richie tipped his head on one side.

* * *

Slick kept very, very, still. He could still hear the voices. But they couldn't get him in here. Not if he kept still. It was safe here. Whatever she had said or he had done, he'd always been able to retreat in here. In this special place nothing could hurt him.

"Hey, Slick."

He relaxed a little as the gentle hand tousled his curls. He remembered how it had felt when he had been heldin his arms, lifting him from the cold cobbles and murmuring comfort into his hair as he carried him inside. The touch and smell of him had somehow made the voices seem less real. But floating in this sea of soft, downy, softness, it was harder to push them back and hold on to who he was. He wanted to be held, tight and close. But they all acted like he was a fragile piece of china who would shatter if they did more than hold his hand.

Oh God, he was so scared. He didn't know how much longer he could keep the voices away.

"Duncan?" Tessa's gentle voice asked something in French, her tone faintly disproving, even as Darius murmured something else.

Slick tried real hard not to wince, too many voices, too many, all crowding in on him. His hands tried scrabbling desperately at the bedclothes, trying to clutch a handful of something, anything, to ground him in the here and now. But he couldn't even get his fingers to flex.

"OK, Tough Guy," a familiar voice spoke softly, close to his ear. "Its just you and me now."

He felt a slight change in temperature as the covers were pulled back and strong hands slipped under his back and legs. A slight moment of weightlessness and then he was settled carefully in the Immortal's lap, one arm wrapped securely around his shoulders and another pulling him in so close to the broad chest that he could feel the fabric of his shirt brushing against his cheek.

"That better?" Somehow the Immortal knew to ease the discomfort caused by even his soft tones, by stroking his hair, the gentle, repetitive moment giving him something else to focus on than the drowning sea of voices. "Now, all you have to do is lie there and get well."

Slick knew that wasn't how it went. You never ever got what you wanted, just because you wanted it hard enough. Besides, the Immortal couldn't possibly know that this was _so_ what he needed. Sooner or later he'd start to talk, trying to chivvy or command him into wakefulness. Or else he'd decide that he 'needed his rest' and he'd tuck him back into the vast, soft, wilderness. And Slick would lose himself. Never to be found again.

Except he didn't.

He just sat there, stroking his hair and letting the soft rise and fall of his chest soothe him, as if he would do it for the next hundred years if need be.

* * *

Duncan had to admit that the shower had felt pretty good. And he had felt even better after Richie had dragged him, not to MacDonalds after all, but to a nearby family run restaurant that served the best steak au poivre he'd ever had in his life.

"Fruites de mer?" he questioned Richie's order.

"It's been a hundred years," Richie shrugged. "You gotta expect a few changes."

"As I recall, you thought your future self was a jerk, because he liked different stuff."

"I was just a kid, what did I know? Besides, I never actually said that, I just figured that if I was gonna be Immortal I'd enjoy it more. Not be so hung up, you know?"

Duncan paused, uncertain whether to bring up the thorny question of Slick's newfound Immortality. Lord knows, the other lad had been young to survive the Game. The young man beside him certainly looked as if he could handle himself, but to Duncan's trained eye he lacked some of the body mass and muscle tone that his counterpart had managed.

"It was different for me," Richie answered the unasked question. "After Ares died, all the really evil Immortals died with him. Those of us that were left were pretty much content to lay down their swords. It was decades before I needed to take another head. There was plenty of time to teach me. It won't last, of course. People get selfish, or disappointed and they stop looking at the big picture. Sooner or later the evil will return, but Methos thinks we've got a good few millennium before that happens. Who knows what we might be able to do?"

"You've seen Methos?" Duncan straightened.

"Yeah," A slow grin spread across Richie's face. "Chill Mac, everything's gonna work out the way its meant to."

"I suppose I should expect Connor and Amanda too?"

"Probably." Richie grinned at him, waving his fork in the air and looking so much like his younger self that Duncan's chest tightened.

"We should get back."

"Nuh uh," Richie waggled a finger. "We still have four and a half hours and you my friend are gonna get some sleep. Don't worry, I was just kidding about the couch. This place has great rooms upstairs."

"I'm no staying here." Duncan protested, his accent thickening with distress.

"Dad, no-one wants you there when I wake up more than me," Richie spoke quietly. "But you look like hell. You gotta let me worry about you some too."

"I guess this family stuff works both ways, huh?" Duncan conceded.

"Always has," Richie smiled. "Always has."

* * *

Four fraught hours and fifteen minutes later, the Immortal let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, as his precious burden finally muttered softly and turned his face into the crock of his arm as he settled into a natural sleep. The worst was over. It was all up hill, from here. He smiled as he felt a familiar buzz.

"Tempted to stay and do it all over again?" his son lounged against the doorjamb.

"In a hot second," Macleod grinned. "I'm sure you could still mange to come up with a few surprises for me."

"Hey, that road trip through Mexico was entirely your idea."

"Talking of hitting the road, we should make tracks," He looked up and caught sight of the concerned Scot hovering behind Richie. "You want to take him from me?"

"I don't want to wake him."

"Its not a problem," Gently Macleod stood up, allowing his younger self to take his place, before passing the still sleeping boy over. "He'll be waking up in a few minutes anyway."

"And he'll be alright?"

"He'll be better than alright." Macleod grinned fondly at his own son. "He'll make you proud."

"But just in case," Richie grinned. "While you were asleep, I left you a list." He nodded at Duncan's jacket pocket.

"A list?" Macleod raised his eyebrows at his offspring.

"Chill, big guy, there's stuff on there for you and the others as well."

"Come on, let's go home," Macleod wrapped an arm around Richie's shoulders as he steered him towards the door. "Just don't let him stay up too late, make him eat all his veggies and keep him away from girls and everything will be fine."

"Hey, I wasn't that bad!" Richie protested, laughing.

As soon asthe younger Immortal was out of earshot, Macleod looked back.

"He'll really be alright?" Duncan was concerned.

"There'll be nightmares for a while, about this and things from before. He'll die before he'd admit it, but even when he pushes you away, he needs you to hold him, in fact its probably a good idea to touch him as much as possible, muss his hair, squeeze his shoulder, put your arm around him, oh and kiss him as often as you can get away with it."

"Even in public?" Duncan grinned.

"Especially in public," His face grew more serious. "It won't be easy. It will take time before he really trusts you, too many broken promises. But it's more than worth it."

"So, will we be seeing you again?"

"Let's hope not," Macleod made a face. "Since there is so much less evil in the world military funding isn't exactly a priority right now. The whole time travel project would never even have got off the ground unless it had private backing. So, unless the world's coming to an end .."

"Private backing?"

"Connor," Macleod looked down at the sleeping boy. "Since his future self hadn't made the best of first impressions on Slick, it was months before he could get the lad to do anything but glower in his direction. I suppose this is our kinsman's way of earning a second chance."

"I'll put in a good word for him." Duncan promised.

As he looked down at the lad sleeping in his arms, he realised that this was indeed for all of them, a second chance. And he for one was going to make the most of it. With a wicked grin he bent his head and pressed his lips gently to Slick's forehead, just as the blue eyes fluttered open.

"Hey." Duncan smiled.

"Duncan, do you ..?" Tessa stopped in the doorway, her question dying on her lips as she realised Slick was awake. In the excitement it was a good two hours before she thought to ask him when he had had time to change his clothes, twice, when he had barely left the boy's side.

* * *

"For the last time, no," Duncan shook his head. He should have known the lad would chafe at being confined to Darius' bed. "Non, Nr, Niet, Nein .."

"What if I need to go to the bathroom?"

"Then I'll carry you," Duncan flashed him a grin. "You need to build up your strength."

"Alright, alright, I get it," Slick scowled. "I don't see why though. Its not like I'm sick or anything."

"Just as soon as you can manage something more than a few spoonfuls of vegetable broth, then we'll agree you're not sick."

Slick bit his lip, went to say something, then clearly thought better of it.

"Hey," Duncan pressed gently. "What's wrong?"

Slick mumbled something Duncan didn't quite catch.

"Slick, listen to me. I will always do everything in my power to help you. But I can't do that if you won't talk to me. So, c'mon partner, spill."

"It had zucchini in it. I can't eat zucchini " Slick looked up at him. "I'm allergic."

"Oh," Duncan realised. "Why didn't you say?"

"Everyone's been so nice, Tess bought me those clothes and Darius got me those books, I didn't want to be a bother."

"Slick," Duncan paused, somehow he didn't think telling the lad he wasn't a bother would cut any ice. Maybe actions would speak louder than words. "So, how about Pizza?"

"Really?" The boy's stomach gave an audible growl at the thought. "Meat Feast?"

"Is there any other sort?" Duncan was already reaching for the phone. "And we're taking those clothes back, by the way."

"We are?" Slick looked at him in undisguised relief. "I mean, they're real expensive and all .."

"Admit it, Tough guy, you hate 'em," Duncan ruffled his hair. "Don't worry, I'll talk to Tess."

He grinned, as he picked up the phone, warmed by the look his actions put on the lad's face. Not only was this going to work but he was going to enjoy every moment of it.

"Hey, Mac, I'm thirsty. Can I grab some juice?"

"Sure, just hold on a sec," Duncan turned his attention to the phone as the Pizza place picked up. "Um, yeah can I have .."

Taking the acknowledgement as permission, Slick slipped out of the bed and padded silently across the floor towards the fridge. Unexpectedly, he felt a little dizzy as he grasped the door handle. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he figured he needed the sugar rush more than he thought, gathering his strength he pulled open the fridge and reached for the large bottle of orange juice, stretching his fingers around it, as he felt the sides slippery with condensation.

He could do this.

With great concentration he lifted the bottle to his lips, and took a large swallow. With a shaky grin he brought the bottle down, mission accomplished.

Except, that the bottle continued its downward curve as it slipped straight through his numb fingers to shatter on the floor.

"Oh crap!"

In panic Slick dropped to his hands and knees and started to pick up as many of the pieces of glass as he could before the sound bought a no doubt extremely pissed Immortal running, only to hiss in pain as one of the larger shards sliced deep across his hand.

"Slick!" Duncan's voice seemed to come from a long way off.

Even as Slick watched in stupefaction as the dark red blood dripped onto the floor, a crackling blue light flickered across the wound, sealing it shut, as if it had never been. He swallowed hard, his own voice sounding very small and young in his ears.

"M Mac?"


	25. Replay

AN- Sorry that its taken me so long to finish this. I bet you guys were beginning to think I never would, but work has been busy and I had no time to write. This is it, over finished and complete. Hope the enjoyed the journey. I do have a new first season story in the works, which I will post when I can.

* * *

"You need to get up off that cold floor," Duncan finally found his voice. "Darius will have my hide if you catch a chill."

Slick ignored the Immortal's outstretched hand as he swayed unsteadily to his feet. "I can look after myself. Been doing it for a real long time." His voice was slurred slightly, as if he was drunk.

Duncan winced, the shock plus the blood loss was obviously taking its toll.

"I know," he spoke gently, trying not to spook him, even as he edged closer. There was a nasty looking four-inch sliver of glass much too close to the boy's right foot. "But you don't have to. Not any more."

He wasn't at all sure Slick was even listening to him. He was shockingly pale, his wide eyes and unsteady legs reminding the Scot of a frightened colt as he backed into the corner.

"Slick?"

The blonde looked at him with no sign of recognition as his skin took an unhealthy green tinge and his eyes frantically darted this way and that before he violently threw up what little he had in his stomach onto the stone floor.

Muttering a choice Gaelic curse, Duncan simply strode through the mess on the floor and kicking the refrigerator door shutreached out to scoop the boy up, intent on getting him cleaned up and back in bed as soon as possible. Afterwards, he had to admit, Slick's timing had been impeccable, as he reached across to pick up the teen he left himself wide open to the small fist that exploded his vision in a hash of red pain as it shattered his nose right across his face. It might even have worked too, if Slick hadn't been too weak and disorientated to run properly and if Duncan hadn't been a seasoned Immortal and therefore almost healed of his injury by the time he caught up with Slick struggling with the thick oak door of the vestry.

Tired, worried and feeling not a little emotional himself he caught the boy by the arm and spun him around. "What the _hell_ was that for?"

Instantly, Slick's lip curled in a sneer and his foot flashed out in a vicious kick towards Duncan's groin, only well-honed reflexes enabled him to avoid a painful injury.

"Hey!" he protested. Anxious to avoid further damage to the boy or himself, Duncan manoeuvred him up against the door pinning his arms at his side as he attempted to calm him. "Slick, settle down!"

Still struggling hard the boy spat at him.

As the warm spittle trickled down his face, for an instant Duncan tightened his grip. The warrior in him wanting to back hand the boy clear across the room. Then he registered the wild trembling of the arms, under his clenched fingers, felt the harsh ragged breath still slightly sour with vomit on his face and looked into a pair of eyes that were flat with hopelessness and defeat as pinned and helpless the boy waited for his fate.

"_Please."_ The single word, almost a whisper, was a helpless plea, that didn't expect to be heard.

"Its alright," Instantly releasing his hold on the boy, Duncan reached up to cup his cheek, his voice soft with reassurance. "Its alright. I'm not going to hurt you."

If anything his gentle caress made the boy pale even further and he stood, clenching and unclenching his fists in obvious distress as he tried to rear back from the touch.

"Please don't. I don't _want_ to .."

"Ach, no laddie. Its not like that," Realisation swept through Duncan like a sick tide

Something flickered uncertainly in the blue eyes as Slick quavered. "P promise?"

"Aye. You're safe now, Da's here." From somewhere Duncan forced a smile as he pulled the boy into a paternal hug. "My word on it bonnie lad."

* * *

After that it had been a simple matter to scoop the exhausted lad up and tuck him into bed. Slick was asleep before his head hit the pillow and hadn't even stirred as Duncan, refusing Darius' assistance, had carefully sponged off all the dried blood and vomit and exchanged his soiled pyjamas for clean ones. Now he sat on a chair by the bed holding Slick's hand and pretending to read a paperback. Waiting for the first sign of life.

When the fingers in his hand twitched, he merely tightened his grip slightly, not letting the lad disengage and concentrated on turning a page of the book he wasn't reading. He was new to this parenting lark. He prayed he was doing the right thing.

"Mac?"

Affecting a nonchalant look that belied the churning in his stomach Duncan peered around the edge of his paperback and flashed a warm smile at the lad.

"Hey. You're awake."

"Please tell me that was all some nightmare and none of it actually happened."

"Sorry," Duncan deliberately kept his tone light as he returned his attention to the book. "Can't do that."

The groan from the bed would have been comical if the situation wasn't so serious. Duncan kept reading.

"I tried to kick you in the balls." Slick recalled.

"Among other things." Duncan agreed without inflection.

There was a small silence

"You're not mad."

"Not at you," Duncan agreed, calmly turning a page. His anger was reserved for those that had taken the trust of child and abused it so badly. He had every intention of tracking down Slick's foster parents and ensuring justice for his son and any others who might have suffered at their hands. But the boy didn't need to know that, at least not just yet. "Are you hungry?" He laid the book aside and picked up the menu for the local pizza place. "Its not too late to order."

"You want me to order pizza?"

"Or we could have Chinese?"

"_Chinese?_"

Duncan opened his mouth.

"No, alright." Slick held up a hand before Duncan could offer other food choices. "Pizza is good."

He watched utterly bemused as Duncan crossed to the phone and placed the order, adding extra pepperoni and garlic bread, just the way he liked it and then calmly settled back into his seat by the bed

"It'll be here in a minute."

"I'm sorry," Slick felt he should say something. "About before. It wasn't you. None of it was you."

"I know."

"Sometimes when I broke stuff my foster parents came down on me kinda hard," Slick made a face. "Bad memories."

"I guessed as much," Duncan nodded at his legs, safely tucked under the blanket and Slick blushed as he remembered the scars. "But you're bright enough to realise that you didn't deserve that. Any of it." He raised a brow meaningfully.

"No-one ever actually, you know," Slick could feel his cheeks burning with the embarrassment of discussing this but he felt it was important the Immortal should know.

"But they came close enough to scare you." Duncan stated matter of factly.

Slick couldn't deny that. "Yeah." He sighed.

"Bad memories are just that. Bad memories. They can't hurt you any more. Unless you let them."

"And you're not likedisgusted, or grossed out or anything?"

"Never," Actually, he was dammed proud of the lad. That he had managed to endure such trials at such a young age and still be the generous, caring soul that he was awed Duncan. But he didn't think Slick was ready to hear that just yet. Instead he offered a rueful smile. "Although, we didn't need to go through all that. You could have just told me."

* * *

Chewing on the last satisfied bit of his pizza Slick took a napkin and wiped the tomato sauce off his now healed hand. Flexing it in curiosity. "So, I'm like you now, aren't I? I'm Immortal."

Beside him on the couch, Duncan admitted defeat and closed the lid of his Pizza box with two slices still inside. "You always were."

"Not like this," Slick waggled his now healed hand."Are you eating that?"

"Go for it," Duncan passed over the box. "I was going to tell you."

"Oh yeah, like there's a Hallmark card for that occasion," Slick opened the box and chewed on the end of a slice. "How do you normally tell someone?"

"It's been different every time," Duncan considered. "Usually, the hardest thing is telling people that they can't stay with their loved ones." Beside him Slick flinched. Just slightly, Duncan probably wouldn't even have noticed it if he hadn't been sitting so close to him that their bodies touched all down his right side. "Hey," He nudged the boy gently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Slick put down the Pizza, his appetite suddenly lost. "So, now I have to go out and fight other Immortals, right?"

"Well, not right away," Duncan allowed. No wonder the lad was so jumpy if that was what he thought. At least, with Ares dead Duncan knew he had the luxury of time. "First you have to learn to use a sword and then there are other skills, like how to fake a new identity."

"I can do that," Slick seized on the idea eagerly. "I could learn to say stuff in French and I'll buy one of those backpacks all the kids seem to have and have my hair cut like they do."

"I'm sure you could," After all Connor had spent so much time in France many people on first acquaintance took him for a native. "But I think for a while at least you'd be better off in Seacouver."

Slick swallowed hard, his knuckles going white as he clenched his fists in his lap.

"Look, I'm sorry I've been so annoying. I'll be quieter. I won't ask so many questions. I'll eat anything you like snails, even. Just please don't make me go back there."

Duncan blinked. He'd expected the lad to be excited that he was going home, back to familiar things like hamburgers and basketball. Instead, he looked downright miserable.

"You don't want to go home?"

"To what? A bunch of strip malls and seedy lounge clubs?" Slick shook his head. "No thanks."

"What about your friends?" Duncan remembered him mentioning a girl. "I bet Angie misses you."

"She'll get over it. She's used to me dropping out of sight."

Every time he was pulled across town to a new school district. Every time his foster parents tried to make him into something he wasn't. Every time they hurt him so badly he'd hit the streets and not risk contacting anyone from his past in case they found him.

"But .." Duncan paused. Tessa had warned him that Slick might be frightened of the change. But he'd been so sure that the lad would be thrilled to be going home, he'd wanted to surprise him. He'd made all the arrangements without even asking the boy whether he wanted to be uprooted again. Still. "Slick, we can't stay here .."

"_We _can't?" Slick looked up a flicker of hope dawning in his eyes. "You mean you're coming too?"

"Of course. You didn't think we'd abandon you, did you?" Duncan joked. But as he looked at the boy's tight, drawn expression, he realised that was _exactly_ what he had thought.

"You said," Slick insisted. "You said I had to leave my loved ones and then you said and I thought .." Tears threatened in his voice and he stopped, swallowing hard.

"Oh laddie," Duncan murmured, without thinking leaning over to kiss the blonde curls as his own father would have done. "I didn't mean that. Most don't know about Immortals. It's not safe. Also people usually die in front of witnesses and its easier for the family to accept that loss, than a few years down the line spend the rest of their lives worrying because their loved one has simply disappeared without trace, because too many people have begun to notice he's not aging."

"But you're taking _me_ back to Seacouver. And I'm not going to get any older than this, right?"

"Well, no. But there are things you can do to look older," Duncan shrugged. "And we can always get you a fake ID." They would have to move on sooner or later of course. But right now he wanted the boy to have the comfort of familiar things around him.

"A fake ID? Really?" Slick perked up, alive with the possibilities. Then he slumped. "Oh man."

"What?"

"You'll laugh."

"No I won't. I swear."

"You say that now." Slick warned.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with you being carded for the rest of your life would it?" Duncan knew he had hit the nail on the head by the expression that flashed across Slick's face. "Richie mentioned something about it." He explained himself. Several times in fact.

"I don't know if I could have been him," Slick's voice was suddenly very quiet. "I mean, I'd love to say I'd rather be tortured than give up my friends and I would you know. That's what I'd _rather_ do. I just don't know if I could be that guy .." He trailed off, bright blue eyes looking at Duncan clouded with uncertainty.

"No one knows what he or she is truly capable of until they are tested," Duncan regarded him solemnly. "I happen to think you stood up pretty well."

"Me. I didn't do nothing."

"No. You did something. You killed Ares."

"Yeah, when the guy was down. Great hero that makes me."

And the boy was nothing but a bairn who couldn't hope to beat a seasoned warrior with centuries more experience in a fair fight. Still, Duncan doubted that argument would cut much ice with Slick.

"You saved your father's life," Duncan corrected gently. "And your mother's and your sister's. And the life of any person with a shred of goodness and decency in them on this planet."

Slick digested that for a second.

"Well, if you put it like that." He gave a bashful shrug.

"I do." Duncan hugged him under his arm.

"It's going to be different for us, isn't it? I mean, Richie never knew Mac was his Dad. Not for the longest time."

"That reminds me," Duncan shifted Slick's weight a little as he reached inside his pocket to access the list Richie had given him. "They left us a list."

"Yeah?" Slick leant over a little so he could see. "What does it say?"

"Number one," Duncan read. "Lose the ugly green and blue jacket."

"Hey, I like that jacket." Slick protested.

"I'm just reading what it says here," Duncan defended himself. "You like it. You keep it."

"Well good. I'm gonna." Slick huffed.

"Alright, number two .." Duncan read on as Slick suddenly reached out and seized his arm.

"What if something bad happens because I kept it? What if like the fate of the world depends on me ditching it? I mean it is kinda gross. Its just it's a proper racing jacket and it was hard enough to find one second hand I could afford. It wasn't like I could be picky about the colours."

"How about we buy you a new one? You've probably almost outgrown the old one anyway," Duncan offered. Even if the fate of the world didn't depend on it, Duncan was pretty sure that Tessa's sense of artistic integrity would struggle to come to terms with Slick's wardrobe.

"Black?" Slick grinned. "With a huge scull and crossbones on the back?"

"Brown," Duncan countered, already imagining Tessa's reaction to a mini Hell's Angel in their midst. Adding with a wink and a nudge before the boy's face could fall. "It'll bring out the colour of your eyes. The girls won't be able to resist you."

"I can live with that. What's behind door number two?"

"Get your hair cut."

"What is this?" Slick scowled. "Some kinda cosmic makeover? I like my hair just fine as it is."

"Um. I think that one's for me." Duncan wasn't at all sure why his future self wanted him to cut his hair. He was dammed if he was mourning for Ares. But on second thoughts it seemed only fitting to honour Richie's memory in some tangible manner. After all, his sacrifice has given Slick a chance at a more peaceful future.

"Number three," Duncan's lips thinned. "Give Joe Dawson a large bottle of the best whiskey money can buy and tell him everything. He's a good man and a better friend than you deserve."

"You don't like him much, huh?"

"I don't know him." And didn't want to know him if his idea of honour was to stand by with a video camera like some snuff movie producer as innocent people were gunned down in the street.

"You don't think maybe you should thank him, for keeping Ares off Richie's trail?" Slick tipped his head on one side. "Or maybe, that you owe him something for not reporting all these Immortals hanging around and bumping into themselves to Watcher central or whatever it's called."

"I'm not responsible for what Dawson does." Duncan countered stiffly.

"And this dude isn't responsible for whatever his other self did that's got you all tied up in knots. C'mon, Mac. We're all working from a clean sheet here, wouldn't you rather have Dawson on our side, than lurking around in the shadows? At least talk to the guy."

"Slick." Duncan warned. "Let it go."

"Sure," Slick shrugged, pulling a little away from him. "I mean, what do I know. I'm only a kid. If you're not gonna listen to your older and wiser self, who obviously thinks that making nice with Dawson is the way to go, then hey. Who the hell am I to argue."

Duncan sighed. Much as he hated to admit it the boy was right. And he'd be more likely to earn his respect by doing the right thing than holding on to his stubborn pride.

"Alright. I'll talk to the man. But he's not having my best malt. The man runs a bookstore for Lord's sake. It'd be wasted on him."

"You probably tried that last time and screwed things up. It says right here, give him the good stuff. Maybe the guy's a closet barkeep or something."

"Oh, all right, we'll do it your way wiseguy," Duncan conceded. "What's next?"

Slick opened his mouth to read the next line and stilled.

"Richie married her, you know." Duncan said, having gently plucked the list out of his lifeless hands.

"Yeah," Slick's voice was rough. "And then she died."

"Its says here that this formula will save her. And countless other people like her I imagine."

"Its gotta be expensive."

"I can afford it."

"So, set up a foundation, build at new wing at the Seacouver General, or something," Slick shrugged. "Just leave me out of it."

"Slick, Richie loved Cassidy Graham enough to marry her. Are you telling me you don't even want to see her again?"

He knew the easiest thing would be to lie to him. It was simple, quick and didn't invite any awkward questions. But somehow he just couldn't.

"Its not a good idea," he sighed. "Stuff happened. And then she got all famous. She can have anyone she wants. She ain't gonna pick me."

"She picked Richie."

"Because she was sick and dying and scared. Because there was no-one else for her and she didn't want to be alone. That's all I ever was for her. As soon as she could move onto something better she blew me off."

"Tell me." Duncan insisted gently.

"Macleod you can't solve everything."

"You need to tell someone. And I'm right here."

For a moment he thought it wasn't going to work. Even though he knew the boy had clearly been carrying around this hurt for far too long, but to his great relief Slick sighed and began to talk.

"He got really drunk. More than usual. She was gonna leave him. He figured he'd just replace her with Cass. She was only 14. I got between them. He almost killed me. I spent some time in the Hospital. When I got out she'd been adopted by these real nice folk and the next time I heard from her she was on MTV."

"Richie told me she never got your letters. The social workers thought it was best. They intercepted your correspondence and that's why you never got her letters either."

"She really wrote to me?" Slick hardly dared to believe.

"From what Richie said she never stopped loving you. Maybe you should give her a chance."

"Its not like I have her number in my Rolodex." Still, his eyes were hopeful.

"We'll sort it out." Duncan promised. An unlisted phone number shouldn't be too hard to trace. Not with friends in all sorts of high places. He wondered if Connor was still officially attached to the CIA.

"So, what's next?" Slick snagged the list back and quickly scanned it. "Its gotta say there somewhere how you can save Tess too, right?"

"Hope so." Duncan acknowledged. He already knew enough not to let her go walking down dark alleys alone at night. One day she would die. He had always known that. But now he was more determined than ever to make her life as rich and full as he could and every second that they were together. Just as soon as they were settled in Seacouver he was going to ask her to marry him.

"Ask Methos about the Hunters?" Slick frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I have no idea. What else does it say?"

"It doesn't. I guess, we'll have to ask Methos," Richie dismissed it. "Hey what about this? Tell Amanda that under no circumstances should she ever befriend an Immortal named Stephen Keane. What do you think that's about?"

"With Amanda, who knows? Maybe he's a bounty hunter."

"Or has a bunny boiling ex-lover."

"You're too young to know about such things."

Slick waggled his eyebrows. "Shows what you know."

"Although telling Amanda not do something is like waving a red rag at a bull. If I tell her not to go, she'll go just to find out what might have happened."

"So, maybe that's what's supposed to happen," Richie reasoned. "Us telling Amanda not to go makes sure that she does go, so that whatever is gonna happen happens."

Duncan crinkled his brow as he tried to digest that. "Maybe." He conceded doubtfully.

"What's next?" Slick read on eagerly. "Whoa, tell Connor he has to learn to surf? How's that gonna save the world?"

"I have no idea."

Privately Duncan thought that instruction probably had far more to do with encouraging his kinsman to spend time with Slick. The two hadn't exactly got off to a good start and maybe seeing that the Immortal wasn't infallible might cut down on some of those months of Slick glowering that Richie had mentioned.

"Its a joke, right? A guy of his age gotta have learnt how to surf somewhere along the line."

"Not Connor. He's never been very comfortable in the water. He says its cold and wet and dammed uncomfortable."

"But you said he was like this amazing sailor."

"In my experience most Captains try to keep their boats on the water not in it."

"Well, shit," A slow grin spread across Slick's face as he realised there was something he could do better than the Immortal. "Everyone in Seacouver learns how to surf. Its like there's a law or something."

"Well, there's a first, you obeying the law." Duncan teased. Slick quickly changed the subject.

"How many more are there?"

Duncan took back the sheet. "Methos has to meet a College student called Alexa in 1994 if he wants to save her life."

"Whoa, like no pressure."

"He mentioned her." Duncan reflected sadly.

"Oh man. She died didn't she?" Slick realised.

"He didn't meet her until 1995. She had already dropped out of College and was working part time as a waitress at some bar to fit in her treatments. But it was already too late." Duncan forced a smile. "Let's hope this time things will be different."

"What's a Do .. something," Slick was duckinghis head to read the other side of the paper.

"A Dojo?" Duncan turned the page over and quickly scanned the text. He wouldn't have the time to devote to another business. Not with Tessa and Slick to take care of. But his other self seemed to think it was important. Perhaps he would suggest it to Connor. It was high time his kinsman left New York anyway.

"What's next?" Slick asked.

Um, .."Duncan glanced back at the paper, "Marriage advice for Fitzcairn."

Slick did a double take. "Fitzcairn? _Marriage_? He didn't seem like the type."

"He isn't." Duncan said dryly. "Somefortune hunting blonde is going to take him for every penny and then take his head."

Slick swallowed hard. "I thought all the evil Immortals were supposed to be defeated when Ares died."

Duncan shrugged. "Not every bad guy in the world is an Immortal."

"Ain't that the truth," Slick took the paper back. "Alright, career advice for Darius, now he doesn't have to stay on Holy Ground he should get out more. Open a school or something. And .. hey, no-one told me Mom was married. I thought she and Methos were an item."

"I think they used to be." Duncan acknowledged. And probably would be again at some point in the future. It was the way of their kind.

Slick wasn't listening, his eyes widening slightly at something else he was reading "Um, Dad, I think maybe you should look at this."

Duncan took the paper curiously and read the words written sure and true in his own unmistakable hand. Then read it again. And even as his rational mind reeled from the newly discovered somehow he felt that he had always known.

"Darius," he swallowed hard. "Darius is my father."

"Man, this is just like Star Wars," Slick beamed. "You think maybe I have a twin?"

"Try a secret identity." Duncan said dryly, passing the letter back so Slick could read the final paragraph.

"That is not true," Slick shook his head. "That is sooo not true."

"Slick, its only six months." Duncan tried to comfort him.

"It might be six months to you, to me it's a whole year," Slick fumed. "How come you didn't know about this? You were there weren't you?"

"Rebecca and I were together almost eight months. If she fell pregnant towards the end of that time the dates still fit."

"But why would she change that?" Slick fretted. "Why write September when I wasn't born until the following March? How could she do this to me?"

"There could be any number of reasons. Maybe, Ares was following you. Maybe you were just too bright and curious for your own good and this was the only way she could get the school district to let you start school early. Its not really that big a deal."

It was clearly the wrong thing to say.

"Not that big a deal?" Slick spluttered. "I'm only fifteen"

"Slick, its not the end of the world," Duncan reasoned. Then paused. "Hold on a minute. You told me you were seventeen. You only lost six months."

"Ah," Slick gave him a sheepish grin. "That's a whole other story."

"You can tell me," Duncan smiled dangerously at him. "After all, we have plenty of time."

Nothing changed, at least, not at first.


End file.
